The Red Hand of Vengence
by Rasial
Summary: A Season 5 Ending Story. The team has an intense stand-off with Brett Partridge in an abandoned house, who reveals himself to be Red John. One member of the CBI family is kidnapped, Lisbon is rushed to hospital, and Jane is forced to confront how he feels about Lisbon and his quest. Jane/Lisbon.
1. Blinking Red Light

**The Red Hand of Vengeance  
**

_A Season 5 Ending. The team has an intense stand-off with Brett Partridge in abandoned house, who reveals himself to be Red John. Some Jisbon is on its way.  
_

"Oh come on, Patrick, I'm a little offended." The hard, light laugh made everyone in the room tense up. "You couldn't _read _me? But you know me _so_ well…"

Rigsby and Lisbon were crouching behind the wall in the adjacent room. They couldn't see Red John where he stood on the landing but they knew he had a weapon trained on Jane, who was facing him, standing out in the open. Their eyes flicked to Jane's face and they saw a rare expression. Guileless shock. Jane really hadn't known. Or even suspected.

Jane swallowed, and licked his lips. "To be honest, I'm a bit disappointed, Brett. I knew not to expect a monster, but you're not even a man. You're a boy. A horny teen."

Partridge sneered. "There's no need for barbs, _Paddy_." He inclined his head towards the gun in his left hand. "I guess" he continued in his silky voice "carnival folk aren't known for their company manners. But if you would be so kind, let Lisbon and her German Shepherd know I have something of theirs, just in case they were thinking of ambushing me."

For the briefest second, Jane's eyes darted towards Rigsby and Lisbon's hiding place. Partridge smiled at this confirmation of their whereabouts, and Jane inwardly cursed himself. This was all slipping out of control…

"You've got Van Pelt." Jane said flatly.  
"_Very_ good, Patrick." Partridge came down a step. "Think of it as a trade. A firey redhead for a French-honey blonde."

Rigsby fidgeted. Jane needed to redirect Partridge somehow before Rigsby lost control and ran for him.

"So losing Lorelei hurt, huh? Good to know." He mulled this over with an expression that said he was examining an opponent's chess move. "Do you tend to strike out with the ladies, Brett?"

Partridge was not galled. "You know that's not my name. What is my name?"

"You need me to say it? That's a little sadomasochistic of you. Was your mother sexually repressive, I wonder, or just uncommonly attractive?" Jane shifted on his feet, inching a little closer.

Partridge laughed. "Still tap-dancing for the crowds, eh Patrick? I thought I'd taught you a little better than to play out your mind games with me. But I can see that you believe. This is not a Timothy Carter moment. You know who I am."

Jane gave him a stony glare. "I know."

Partridge laughed harshly. "The ten-year puzzle seems so _easy _to solve now, doesn't it? Now, you look at me and you can't see anyone else. But for years I was in forensics, helping on cases, a part of the CBI family. And let's be honest" he reached up with his right hand, grabbed a lock of hair and curled it in the centre of his brow, theatrically mocking Jane's own curls "it's a little like looking in a mirror."

Jane's lip curled, showing his teeth in a hard smile. "I am nothing like you."  
"Nonsense, Patrick. You're my most faithful disciple." Partridge purred. "And here you are:

The hand of Vengeance found the bed  
To which the Purple Tyrant fled;  
The iron hand crush'd the Tyrant's head  
And became a Tyrant in his stead."

"_The Grey Monk_." Jane said listlessly, who had read Blake's entire canon since the _Tyger Tyger_ incident. "You think I'm here to kill you and_ become _you?"

"Playing out some of your daddy issues no doubt." Partridge sniffed.

Patrick broke eye contact with him for the first time, dropping his head and giving a genuine laugh. "I finally get it. The smiley face. _The double has become an image of terror, just as, after the collapse of their religion, the gods turned into demons."_

Partridge looked impressed. "Freud on Heinrich Heine – yes! It's nice to see you coming along so well." he beamed. Then he met Jane's eyes and sobered. "But I know you're humouring me. That won't always be the case. For now let me remind you that Van Pelt's continued safety relies on your civility. And you won't be seeing me this way again" he made a glamorous gesture to his visage. "I've already purchased a new face just for this occasion." He began to back slowly up the stairs, his gun trained on Jane's chest. "Goodbye, Patrick."

At that moment Lisbon deliberately scuffed her foot on the floor, loud enough to make Partridge jump. Jane pulled the gun from his pocket and fired twice into Partridge, just as Patridge shot four rounds through the wall was at Lisbon and Rigsby. Patridge stumbled back into the hallway and pushed a red blinking light that Jane knew was a remote control detonator. "Take cover" he yelled over the noise of the blast. Debris forced him backward and down, onto his side. His ears were ringing and his eyes teared up.

Partridge disappeared in a cloud of concrete dust and rubble.


	2. Pooled Blood

**Chapter 2**

Jane looked up. A silhouette loomed over him. A tall frame, square shoulders, a furrowed brow: Rigsby. He dropped to one knee beside Jane. "Are you hurt?"

Jane heard the words like they were being spoken through water, but he could read Rigsby's lips. "I think I'm okay." Jane said, rubbing the back of his head. His first thought was _Where's Red John?_ Out loud he asked "Where's Lisbon?"

Rigsby said something and gestured over to the collapsed wall they had been crouching behind. Jane noticed the tension in his frame and realised Lisbon must be hurt. He felt an instant pang of regret that he had thought of Red John before he thought of her. She had been the one to make him risk the shot, he remembered. He realised she had begun to put his vendetta before her own safety, the safety of the team. He was corrupting her.

He bowed his head a little as Rigsby rose and held out a hand to him. Rigsby heaved him to his feet and Jane realised how badly he had been winded. His eyes widened as he struggled to take a deep breath. "The EMTs are on their way." Rigsby mouthed slowly and pointedly. He had caught on that Jane's hearing was suffering. They picked over the rubble to where an ashen-faced Cho was lifting chunks of wall and support beam off a debris pile.

Jane blanched, and reached out to steady himself on Rigsby's shoulder. _Lisbon's legs were sticking out from under the pile. _Cho's eyes met his briefly, and Jane did not have to be a mentalist to discern the barely-contained anger written in them. He blamed Jane for Lisbon's state. He might even have been tempted to get violent if he had not happened to see the tears glistening in Jane's eyes.

Cho turned his back to give his full effort to lugging stones.

The EMTs pushed through and made Rigsby and Jane go out to the ambulance to be treated. Cho refused to step back, and when Lisbon had been unearthed, he was the first to hear her muffled groan.

"Boss? Can you hear me?"  
Lisbon groaned again. "J-Jane?"  
"It's me Boss, Kimball." Cho said gently. "The EMTs are going to take you to the ambulance now." He followed her stretcher back to the ambulance and then got out his phone and dialled Bertram.

"We've been hit pretty bad here." He said the moment Bertram answered. "Red John is Brett Partridge, forensics specialist and former state employee. He detonated a small incendiary device at 450 Felpham Crescent. Lisbon, Jane and Rigsby all got caught in the blast."

Rigsby, ignoring the EMTs' protests, struggled out of the second van and grabbed Cho's arm. "You've got to tell them: Red John's got Grace."

Cho pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at him for a moment. Rigsby looked like a wild animal caught in the trance of highbeams on a freeway. Bertram's disconnected barking on the other end of the phone snapped Cho back to it. He put the phone back to his ear. "Agent Grace Van Pelt is missing, Partridge claims to have her. We need a state-wide search focusing on any of Red John's previously known Sacramento locations as well as warehouses and abandoned real estate within a 50-mile radius of the house." He gave Rigsby a grim look. "We have reason to believe that she's still alive." Cho ended the call and stared into the torpor of space. Rigsby made a fist and beat the side of the van before climbing back in.

Cho looked up. "You're bleeding." he noticed.  
Rigsby and the female EMT in the back of the van looked up in surprise. His right trouser leg was soaked in blood. The EMT strapped him into the stretcher and said to Rigsby over her shoulder "Looks like you might have taken a bullet in the gluteal region."  
Rigsby looked puzzled.

Cho gave him a quick, absurd grin, in spite of the situation. "She means you got shot in the ass. I'll follow you to the hospital." He shut the door and tapped it as it pulled off. Other CBI teams were beginning to pull up at the scene. Soon reporters' vans would arrive in response to the explosion and the place would be chaos. He looked longingly after the ambulance, wanting to forget he was a cop for a moment and go with them.

But somebody had to coordinate the search for Van Pelt.


	3. Red Alert

**Chapter 3**

The back of the ambulance opened and Jane was blinded by the artificial light of the hospital. The EMTs unloaded Lisbon first who had been unconscious for most of the trip. They wheeled her straight into the ER. Jane gathered that they were worried about abdominal bleeding, and was alarmed at the priority her case was given. She must be in real danger.

"We need you to see the triage nurse, and wait for a doctor to check you over. Get that hearing seen to. " A wiry male EMT patted him on the back, and tried to usher him towards the counter. He was young, projecting confidence, used to managing people in his line of work.

"My hearing's already coming back." Jane told him, eyes not leaving Lisbon's stretcher disappearing up the far corridor.

"Well we wouldn't want to risk it." The young man told him. "Given the explosion, we also need to do a thorough check for hairline fractures, internal bleeding…some injuries can take a while to surface."

Jane turned to look at him, cold and severe. "I can see you're just trying to do your job. You're good at it. You handle injured people blithely because you see them as sacks of meat and don't get emotionally involved."

The EMT spluttered something but Jane cut him off. "Don't object, that's a valuable asset. It's the wired look in your eyes your colleagues should be worried about, those dilated pupils. You're an adrenaline junkie. You love the high-speed driving, the danger…" Jane swept a glance over his laminate and uniform "…and what would I find, _Aaron, _if I were to look in your breast pocket?" Jane tapped the pocket and heard the clipped echo of plastic and pills. He gave a cruel smile and lowered his voice, searching out the impassive EMT. "Uppers? Not street drugs…prescription meds? Obtained without a prescription, I dare say."

The EMT glanced once around the ER waiting room, then grabbed Jane urgently by the arm and dragged him to a nearby alcove."What the hell do you want?" he hissed.

"Get me in to see Lisbon." Jane said.  
"Your _girlfriend's_ going in for surgery. You want me to nick you the gloves and gown?"  
"There'd be an observation area of some sort above the theatre. Take me there." The EMT growled but started quick-marching Jane towards the Emergency OTs.  
He shoved Jane in at the door to the glass-lined room. "OT Two" he spat. "If she survives, she'll go to ICU, family only." He strode off.

Jane looked down on the blue-clad figures in the theatres. Watching from up here, so removed, was like an alien or demi-god's point of view. No wonder doctors had superiority complexes. Lisbon's frame looked a lot smaller surrounded by coversheets and white gauze. He paled at the sight of her blood. He could tell the nurses were harried, but the surgeon's movements were so orchestrated Jane had trouble telling how the procedure was going. He noticed himself shaking. If Lisbon died, it was all over. He'd leave the CBI and pursue Red John on his own.

_And then what?_ The voice in his mind was high and arrogant. Partridge's voice.  
_Whoever fights with monsters_…_and when you gaze long into an abyss…  
_Jane shook his head to clear the thought. The last thing he needed was to internalise his nemesis.  
_ You scolded the EMT about meat sacks, but Teresa Lisbon is your pound of flesh…what won't you do to her in order to get to me?_

The surgeon was pulling off his gloves, moving efficiently, but with self-satisfaction. Jane felt his knees go weak with relief. Only then did he realise that he wasn't just shaking.

He was crying.


	4. Red Raw

**Chapter 4**

Lisbon's body registered the hospital routines as she dozed. Attention buzzers going off. Food trolleys clattering in the hallway. Squeaking rubber shoes on over-bleached tiles. She twitched in her sleep. Jane smiled.

He had been at the hospital for fifteen hours straight. Lisbon had been transferred from the ICU to a private room as soon as Cho had arrived to insist upon it, with the official swagger of the CBI behind him. Jane, rumpled and haggard, had been propped up by the doors of the ICU for several hours, unable to go in, when Cho arrived. It was a frosty exchange – Cho gave him a curt nod as he passed but didn't speak. At least Cho understood that Jane wasn't just slouching there – he was acting as sentry post.

After settling Lisbon in, Cho had returned to the CBI station to assist the search for Van Pelt.  
"Call me when she wakes up." was all he said before he left.

Jane had settled in to the plastic visitor's chair and waited. He'd made himself so difficult, the nurses gave up trying to budge him. A few hours later, once he had been discharged, Rigsby had hovered in the doorway for a few minutes. But when Lisbon didn't wake, he'd furrowed his brow and said "I'm heading home – doctor says I should rest. I'll just drop by the station on my way, and see how the search is going."

Both Jane and he knew he had no intention of heading home that night.

The breakfast tray came in for Lisbon. Jane asked the large, curly-haired cafeteria lady for some tea, and let her assume it was for Lisbon. She handed him a Styrofoam cup with a tea-bag in it and filled it with luke-warm water from an urn on the trolley. Once she had rumbled out, he took a sip, made a small disgusted choking sound and set it down on the laminate cabinet beside him.

This was the familiar noise that woke Lisbon.

Her voice sounded gravelly and strained. "Jane?"  
He shifted in his chair so she could see him better. "Hello Lisbon."  
She tried to manoeuvre herself up in the bed so she was sitting, but couldn't manage it. Her face stiffened and he knew she was in pain.

"There's a button for that…here." Jane said, and put the electronic bed control in her hand. He closed her hand around it, closing his hand around hers. He didn't make eye-contact and quickly drew his hand away.

When she could sit up and be eye-level with him, she felt she could read his face as she never had before. He looked awful. He felt guilty about Van Pelt and worse because he wasn't leading the search to get her back. There was shame there too – shame for not being able to see Red John when he was right under Jane's nose, for leading the team into danger, and most of all for getting Lisbon hurt.

"It's not your fault I got hurt, Jane." She said soothingly.  
"No," he said, with a surprisingly sharp tone, unable to meet her gaze. "You escalated the situation, so on paper, it was your fault."

Lisbon blinked, she hadn't expected that reaction.

He continued, "But you took the risk because of me, because you spend too much time with me."

The "too much" stung Lisbon. "So I was supposed to let Red John flaunt himself, and walk out with Van Pelt stashed somewhere, without anyone firing at him? I'm an agent of the law. It's my job to be in harm's way sometimes. But you – standing out in the open without a weapon drawn – are you really going to lecture me about being reckless?" She spoke evenly, but with a raised pitch. "_You_ cause so much damage on a daily basis, there's a fall-out zone around you, Jane, and you're mad because I scuffed my shoe?"

"Yes." He said coldly. "Our partnership works by Daoist principles – I use the dark, you use the light. I push the boundaries, you resist. But if you stop, there's nothing to tether me, nobody thinking about the consequences. I'll get you all killed and I won't think twice about it."

He looked up at her and she could see the rawness in his eyes, as though he was begging to be put out of his misery. The cues that his words and his expressions were giving her were polar opposites. Her head swam between pity and anger.

"I think…I think I have to leave you." Jane said.

Lisbon made a strange choking sound which could have been a sob. Some days with Jane, it seemed like his sanity was threadbare, and it was hard to tell what was on the other side. Psychopathy, an infantile super-ego...but today she could see it. A looming tidal wave of grief. Dark waters gathering, always moments away from obliteration.

And he wanted it. He wanted to be scoured from the earth.

Suddenly she knew she wanted to put her hand on his unshaven cheek, lay his head on her shoulder and run her hand soothingly over his curly head. To be able to wrap her arm around his back and hold him until he did not need to sob anymore. To protect him.

She put out her hand to do it, but she could only reach as far as his hand. She could feel the humming anguish beneath his skin. His pulse coursed like a river. She pulled him in closer to her. He hesitantly let himself be led until his face was mere inches from hers.

"Jane." She said again, and this time she allowed some of the tenderness she felt to seep into her voice.  
His eyebrows furrowed, he looked frightened. "I can't…"  
"Talk to me," she murmured, "Let me help you…"  
Something in his eyes deadened, and his face contorted and became haughty, ugly.  
He pulled back and wrenched his hand away from her.

"Don't you think I ever get _tired _of your pity, Teresa?" he used her name the way a parent would. Pushing back the chair, he got up and stood over her. "I can see every thought written on your face. Every time you worry about my sanity, or sigh when you think of my humble origins, or think for the thousandth time I'm not clever enough to get Red John on my own, I hear it. And I _am_ tired of it."

Lisbon was appalled. She tried to get her thoughts in order and stammer out something, but Jane didn't give her the satisfaction of a reply. He turned and stalked out of the room, his stride echoing along the corridor.


	5. The Red Curtain

**Chapter 5**

****Rigsby was manning the computers, determined to contribute to the search for Van Pelt somehow. On impulse he ran real estate checks for Cut Iron Properties and RJ Solutions, even though he knew that Red John would be well aware that those corporate aliases were known to the CBI. Rigsby's large frame leaned forward into the screen, typing in search terms with tense, right-angled knuckles. He was banned from active duty while his gunshot wound healed, and although he lacked Van Pelt's finesse and sometimes found himself asking "What would Grace Do?" when he was stuck, he made up for any IT shortcomings he might have with his vigour. When they'd found her location, he was determined that he was going to be the one to go in and get her.

He barely looked up when Jane strode by. "Hey Jane. How's Lisbon?" he asked.  
When Jane didn't answer, Rigsby looked up and saw him disappear into Lisbon's office.

Curious, he pushed back from the chair, got up with a small grunt, and walked slowly enough by the door that he could bring Jane briefly into eye-line. He was startled to see Jane firing up Lisbon's computer.

"Hey Rigsby." Jane said completely naturally, as though he hadn't ignored him moments ago. "Just running a small errand for Lisbon. Do you have something I can use to store the files I retrieve?"

"A USB?" Rigsby said, holding back a friendly laugh.

"Whatever you call them." Jane said evenly. He continued to type search terms and never moved his eyes from the screen. "Do you have one?"

"Yeah." Rigsby went abruptly to his desk in the bullpen to get it. While he was gone, Jane cracked Lisbon's access password to the CBI database. It had to be changed every month, and recently she had been using the names of saints, probably because she figured Jane wouldn't know them in case he was ever inclined to snoop. She was wrong. He typed in a few before "Saint Rita". Nothing. Then he tried replacing the "i"s with "1"s, as Lisbon was the sort who would take precautions to make her password more secure.

That was it. Patron saint of victims, lost causes, and loneliness. The irony of Lisbon's choice had not been lost on Jane. Once in, he gathered all the official personal and work history files on Brett Partridge. No doubt the identity had been carefully farmed for years before Red Jon had assumed it, but Jane had to start somewhere. This very traceable violation was going to get Lisbon in trouble, he reflected as he trawled. Regret shadowed his features for a moment. He shook it off. This had to be done.

Rigsby returned, after having rummaged in his drawer for a while, holding out the USB.  
"Once you see my name come up, drag and drop the files she wants onto the name." Rigsby said, correctly assuming that Jane didn't know how to use it.

Jane did so, then pulled it out of the side of the machine and tucked it into his inner jacket pocket. Rigsby watched him with a slightly puckered brow, clearly wondering what he was up to. Jane had to pass where he was standing to get through Lisbon's door. He turned a little awkwardly towards the taller man with a sad smile.  
"See you, Rigsby." Jane met his eyes and said it with such finality and genuine feeling that Rigsby's suspicions were aroused. Something was wrong.

But before he could ask any questions, Jane had cleared the hallway and was making for the elevator.  
Rigsby shook his head, mulled it over for a moment, and then decided to take a look at what files Lisbon had asked Jane to access. He was at Lisbon's computer when Cho arrived from a meeting with Bertram a few minutes later, only to find the bullpen empty.

Cho nodded to him from the doorway. "What are you doing?"  
Rigsby sighed. "Not sure really. Jane was in here earlier, acting strange."  
"Strange how?"  
"Well, he was using a computer for one. He said the Boss sent him to get some files."  
Cho folded his arms. "Red John files?"  
Rigsby peered at the screen. "Yeah, background check on Partridge looks like."  
Cho was suspicious."Something's up. I'm heading to the hospital." He made to go. "You coming?"  
Rigsby hesitated. "I've still got some leads to chase up here." He said. "Call me if you need back-up."  
Cho understood Rigsby's reluctance to be anywhere but on Red John's tail with Van Pelt missing, and with only the two of them in the unit at the moment, they were stretched pretty thin. He also knew it would be easier to talk to Lisbon alone. He grabbed his keys. "Back soon."

Rigsby nodded and settled back at his own desk with a deep sigh. He sifted through a few more results when something caught his eye. R J Solutions had actually flagged something. The Red Curtin Community Theatre – a tiny venue that was slated for demolition, but the last company to regularly rent the space was purportedly R J Solutions. The most recent rental cheque cleared two months ago.

_And it was a 15 minute drive from Felpham Crescent._

Rigsby's heart began to hammer. This could be it. But he was off active duty and if he called in the CBI cavalry, there's no way they'd let him come on the bust. It should be just Cho and him to check out this lead, he reasoned - he didn't trust anyone else with Grace's safety. But R J Solutions? Red John wouldn't be that sloppy.

So maybe this was a trap?


	6. Crimson Blush

**Chapter 6**

Cho knocked twice on Lisbon's front door. It took her so long to answer he began to frown with worry. He heard the deadbolt unlock, and the door swung open to reveal Lisbon, ghostly pale, with deep dark rings around her eyes.

He took a step inside the door and closed it for her while she shuffled to the lounge.  
"You shouldn't have left the hospital." Cho said.  
Lisbon shrugged. "I've had my transfusion. All there is to it now is to rest and let the stitches heal. I'll be _fine_." She emphasised this last word, touched by the intense concern in Cho's gaze.

"And what if Red John comes for you?" Cho was characteristically blunt.  
"Well, now that I know he's Partridge, I feel like I've got decent odds in a fistfight." Lisbon said wryly. "But if he wanted me, he'd find a way to get me in hospital or anywhere else. And he's got his hands full right now – dealing with his gunshot wounds and trying to evade the search for Van Pelt. He'll be lying low for a while…" She trailed off, overcome by a little wave of grief, and said a swift prayer for Grace under her breath.

Cho crossed the room and sat in an adjacent armchair, knees bent outward with his elbows resting on them, one hand closed around the wrist of the other hand. Lisbon recognised this as his "candid" pose. He leaned forward a little. "So what happened with Jane?"

Lisbon blushed, feeling that all the remaining blood in her body rushed to her cheeks at that moment. She took a moment to compose herself before she spoke.

"Jane is scared. He feels like he's lost the war against Red John, that he's failed his family again, and now that he's failed us…" her voice cracked a little "…and Grace."

Cho felt a little shaken by the way the Boss had said Van Pelt's name. Like she was dead. He pulled himself together.

"So Jane's acting out?"  
Lisbon's shoulders slumped. "I think it's more than that. Partridge really got to him with that tyrant poem. He thinks he's a bad influence on me and that he's going to get the whole team killed."  
Cho privately thought that was a pretty accurate assessment. But he could see how upset Lisbon was and he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

Her eyes glistened like she was close to tears. "You should have seen him, Cho. He's right on the edge…and I think I pushed him a little too hard." She knew Cho was no idiot and that he would read between the lines of what she was saying, but she had no intention of giving a more definite description of what had happened either. "He said he might have to leave the CBI."

When it came to dealing with pain, Cho believed in ripping off the bandaid cleanly, rather than peeling it in fits and starts. So he looked Lisbon in the eye and told her directly: "I think he already has. He stole a bunch of CBI files on Partridge from your computer. Seems like he guessed your password."

Lisbon's eyes went wide, then she covered her face with her hand, shook her head, and gave a dark frustrated laugh. "He's sabotaging himself" she said into her palm. "Burning his bridges so he can't come back." When she looked up at Cho, he could see that a couple of rogue tears had leaked from her eyes. Jane had never deliberately gotten her into trouble at work before; in fact he'd gone to great lengths to help her keep her job in the past. "He could have guessed any one of our passwords if he put his mind to it, but he used _my_ computer because he wants to get _me_ into trouble." She clenched her jaw, wishing for the millionth time that Jane wasn't so emotionally abnormal. He wants me to stop trusting him so that he can't take advantage of me. In a weird way, he's trying to protect me."

Cho snorted angrily. "He's trying to protect himself."  
Lisbon was surprised to see Cho so fired up. But then, she had no idea how much it pained Cho to see Jane wring her dry with his endless schemes and conspiracies and psychological damage. Although he never said anything, Cho did see the undercurrents of Jane's and Lisbon's relationship pretty clearly. Right now, though, he could see that Lisbon looked crestfallen, as she weighed his last comment against her own intuitions, worried that he might be right.

He felt bad. Just because Jane was using Lisbon as an emotional punching bag didn't give him the right to respond to it by doing the same thing. "Where do you think Jane will go?" he asked her.

She sighed. Even thinking about it made her tired. "He'll book a motel room with cash somewhere. Probably one with a diner adjacent that serves good eggs." She flashed him a sardonic smile. "Or maybe not – he's punishing himself, so maybe he'll choose a place where the eggs are awful."

"How desperate is he – should we be looking for him?" Cho worded it carefully, but Lisbon knew what he was asking: did she think he might be holed up somewhere, about to commit suicide?

"Check his house and his motel room." She said. "Then report him to Missing Persons. We can't afford to divide the manpower away from the search for Van Pelt." Jane wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be found, she knew.

Cho wasn't the type to play boyish pranks, or joke and flirt to cheer Lisbon up. He couldn't lower his lids then bring his eyes up to meet hers just in time for her to see the sincere affection gleaming in them. He didn't know any other way to comfort Lisbon other than to be steadfast. So he looked her in the eyes and said:

"We'll find them boss. Both of them. Wait and see."


	7. Red-striped Canvas

**Chapter 7**

The tinny trills of that music usually repugnant to Jane, were, tonight, strangely comforting. The beads of light on the troupe's ferris wheel had come on, and dusk was lending the traveling carnival an air of mystery that it sorely lacked under the speculation of broad daylight.

Jane had taken off his jacket and leaned on the fence in his vest and rolled up shirtsleeves. To the outward observer, he seemed to belong here. To calm himself, he began to cold read the crowd:

The father with the two kids only had them every other weekend. He was overcompensating with fairyfloss, plush game prizes and showbags. His weighed-down posture clearly indicated that wasn't used to carrying all the kids' things for them the way a full-time parent would be. The girl in the polka-dot dress didn't normally curl her hair, she had burnt the ends a little. She was wearing shoes half-a-size too big, borrowed from her older sister for the date with the lad grinning beside her. The tattooed middle-aged carnie man on the shooting game had the slightly jaundiced skin of a late-stage alcoholic. He had already spotted the same young man and identified him as an easy mark.

He felt a wave of nausea and self-loathing as he remembered that he used to be that man. He had never really enjoyed ripping people off. Oh, he enjoyed the con - the clever ruse, putting one over on someone who thought they were better than him, but he never had enjoyed turning people into victims. And there was something uncivilized about stripping people of their masks, whether or not they deserved it, especially when all the while he clung to his own.

He brushed the toe of his shoe over a sandbag that was holding up the portable railing, and thought about the reason he had come here, almost on autopilot, buzzing with nerves.

Part of what he had said to Lisbon was true - he was worried that he was becoming a monster - or worse, that he always had been one.

Then he saw the little girl with the shared-custody father drop her showbag, and he almost started forward to help her pick up her sugary treasures. No. His empathy was not a ruse. The truth was worse. He swallowed, and began to shake with fear. He sank down into a crouch behind the fence, before sitting and pulling out a brown paper bag from his trouser pocket. Taking a sip from the bottle of bourbon, he let himself speak the truth softly:

"I'm not as good as I thought I was."

As though he had opened the floodgates, a barrage of thoughts rained down on him: "I'm nothing but a fool...I'm exactly where I started - a small-time carnie act always thinking the next mark is my ticket to the big time...I've dragged down everyone I've ever loved..."

He shed a few tears of self-pity and felt disgusted by them, by his own continued existence. He thought about all the miserable beige motel rooms, the terrible silence of his Malibu home, the insomnia, the distance he kept between himself and those he cared about. He had thought that he was simply playing the long con - that his mind was able to transcend those ugly experiences, that it was all just camouflage, under his control, part of his revenge plan. But all that beige had sunk into him - settled into his bones. He had punished himself - oh how he had punished himself since his wife and child had died - but he had never quite learned to overcome his own arrogance. He couldn't.

It masked his fear of the fact that underneath the suit, he was just an ill-educated carnie kid.

He drained the bottle and took out what he had brought to do what he had to do. But first, he needed to let himself think about Lisbon. He had often wondered if he would ever be able to let her close, and the morning at the hospital had shown him that he couldn't. Not just because of the crippling guilt, but because he was terrified of what she might see in his eyes. He couldn't have Lisbon knowing how worthless he truly was.

But he couldn't have her pining after him once he was gone either. He needed to remind her that the real Jane was a coward, and a crook. That's why he'd chosen to come to a carnival with some Dutch courage and a sharp knife.

He wished he could use a gun, but the last thing he wanted was to make a loud noise to draw a big crowd and traumatise some showbag-toting kid with his brains splattered over candy-striped canvas. Out the back here, he'd be found quietly, later that night when the carnies packed up and everyone else had gone home.

He was worried the knife would make Lisbon cling to the idea that he had been murdered by Red John, but his choice of location was a private message he thought Lisbon would understand. Besides, no smiley face. And if Partridge thought he'd been killed by a Red John copycat, he'd tear up Sacramento looking for the pretender...

Jane blinked. Out of the distant laughter, carnie calls and twinkle lights, a plan started to form. A crazy one. So crazy, Partridge would never see it coming.

Slowly he picked himself up, dusted the loose hay off his pants and stumbled towards his faithful Citroën, mulling over the stark brilliance of his plan:

He would become a monster after all. He would become a Red John copy-cat killer.


	8. The Vermillion Message

**Chapter 8**

The Red Curtain Theatre was an old, brown-brick building with brass letters declaring its name on the outer wall, although the "H" in "theatre" was missing and the "N" was dangling by its heel from one remaining screw. Faded newspaper taped up in the windows made it difficult for Rigsby to get a view of the inside. Its only access points were the narrow façade that opened onto the street, and a concrete staircase down into an alleyway behind the theatre. That's where Cho was waiting to come in the back way. He had alerted the CBI that they were checking out a lead, so they could get back-up if they needed it, but since he hadn't mentioned Van Pelt directly, there weren't swarms of cops insisting that Rigsby go home and leave this one to the more able-bodied agents.

Cho didn't like not going strictly by the playbook while he was in charge, and he was worried about what Rigsby might do if Red John really did have Van Pelt in there. Charge at him like a rhino, Cho guessed. The problem is, rhinos aren't that bright. He knew he really should have gotten the new CBI Response Team involved; it would have been much safer for everyone. But he also knew how much this meant to his partner, and in the end loyalty trumped sanity, as it so often did when he made choices involving his CBI family.

Cho spoke to Rigsby over their coms. "You ready, man?"  
"Yeah, I'm going in." Rigsby used a brick to smash in one of the glass foyer door panels. Then he leant in and unlocked the door from the inside. It had been a loud entrance, so whoever was inside now knew he was coming. He tried the light-switch in the foyer. To his surprise, the lights came on, showing a small ticket office and bathrooms to his left, the cloakroom and bar in front of him, with two large double doors set between them.

"What you got?" Cho asked in a low voice.  
"Lights work. Someone's been here recently." Rigsby answered quietly. "Checking the office now…"  
The office was locked so Rigsby had to kick it in, and winced as he felt the pain down his right leg.  
"I'm in the dressing rooms, nothing here." Cho said. "There's a big storage area down here under the stage though. Filled with props and mannequins."  
"Creepy." Rigsby said. "Foyer's clear, I'll meet you in the theatre."

Rigsby pushed open the doors and gasped. There was a spotlight trained on the old red-velvet curtains, and something was suspended in its beam. He ran over to the stage, heedless of the fact that he had not yet checked the room.

_It was a marionette, strung up in the light. It had long, red hair._

He called out to Cho. "I've got something!"  
After a moment, Cho appeared from the side-stage. "It looks like someone's been living back there; they've cleaned up in a hurry."

He turned to look at the marionette. It wore an absurd little red dress as though the wooden figure was meant to be seductive. Its face was painted gaudily, with dark vermillion lips. There was something weird about the matte finish of the paint…

Rigsby lurched back. "It's blood."

The vein in his neck stuck out as he gripped Cho's shoulder. "Grace's blood."  
Cho turned to his partner grimly. "Even if it is, that's a good thing. Last time he broke pattern and used a doll as a message, his kidnap victim turned up alive."  
Rigsby looked exasperated. "Yeah, but Christina Frye's still in a mental hospital after what Red John did to her!"  
"Take a deep breath." Cho said. "I've got to call this in."

Rigsby paced, running his hand over the top of his head in an agitated fashion while Cho finished on the phone. "They're on their way." Cho told him.

Rigsby sat down on the edge of the stage stiffly, legs hanging freely. Cho joined him.  
"I don't understand." Rigsby shook his head. "If this wasn't a trap, what was it?"  
"A message." Cho said simply.  
"What does it mean?" Rigsby asked.  
Cho paused for a moment. "It means he's playing mind games with us."

He _almost_ said "He's playing mind games with _her_." But he saw the wild panic in Rigsby's eyes and stopped himself just in time.


	9. Pink Freesias

**Pink freesias**

The problem with Jane's new plan was that he needed expertise and resources - in short, he needed to get back in with the CBI. But he didn't know how to do that without facing Lisbon. He drove his blue Citroen around the backstreets of Sacramento until it was almost dawn, unsure of where to go.

Had she really been going to kiss him? The thought made a smile play across his lips for a moment, until the image of her drawing him in was replaced with the confusion in her eyes when he had begun to rant at her. Thinking of it made him burn with caustic shame. The spirit of what he had said was true, of course. He did hate her pitying him, and he did need her to stop taking risks. But he had only resorted to anger to control the situation because he was scared. Scared of what Lisbon meant to him, and what she might expect from him once all this was over.

He decided to go where he always went when he felt the need to be humbled: the cemetery where his wife and daughter were buried. He pulled into a car space just after six am, and the Citroën puttered to a stop, his exhaust making fog in the dewy air.

He moved among the rows until he found his family. As he approached, he noticed that there were flowers newly put on the graves. His gut clenched with a familiar anger as he jumped to the conclusion that his family had once again been desecrated by Red John. But as he inspected the flowers, he began to calm down - they had no insinuating cards or symbols tied around them, although they were a rather odd mix - bluebells and freesias on Charlotte's grave, and purple hyacinths on Angela's.

Of course. It was floriography.

Freesias meant lasting friendship. Bluebells meant constancy. And purple hyacinths were the sign of forgiveness. Jane grinned. Lisbon was getting inventive. Maybe his influence over her wasn't all bad. She'd known that messaging or calling him was pointless, and that he wouldn't go home or to a motel she could find him in. In fact, this was the one place he'd be guaranteed to visit. And even if he was still mad with her and would refuse contact with her, he'd have to interpret the flowers before he could be certain who the message was from. It was a clever play.

He selected a bluebell and two freesias from the bouquet and twirled their stems thoughtfully in his fingers. She was trying to tell him that his stunt at the CBI hadn't worked – he hadn't managed to turn her against him. The tension which had hardened around his heart since the encounter with Red John began to melt away.

She had not abandoned him. And he was grateful.


	10. Red Lips and Rituals

On Lisbon's first day back, she came in early to work. Partly, she wanted to avoid the round of applause which usually followed when an agent returned after injuries in the line of duty. Her other motivating factor was her desire to read up on the investigation into Van Pelt's disappearance before the rest of the team got in.

The investigation had gone cold. After the Red Curtain incident, Cho, Rigsby, and the team officially investigating her disappearance had tensed, expecting a final showdown, but nothing happened. They'd gone door-to-door showing Van Pelt's picture near the Red Curtain, they'd made media appeals for information, and there had been plenty of callers, but nothing had panned out. Crank calls increased dramatically when a strikingly pretty girl like Grace was missing. To make matters worse, Bertram had insisted that Rigsby, Cho and Lisbon all see the staff psychologist regularly to discuss their feelings about Van Pelt and the shooting at Felpham Crescent.

Lisbon sighed to think the shooting was almost a month ago now. It made her feel weary and disheartened. The job had taken an enormous toll on the people she cared about; Minelli, Bosco, Hightower, Van Pelt…always the good guys. She shook her head.

The bullpen was empty. When she got to her office, she put down her bag and turned to notice that tucked in beside her computer was a small vase with sprays of mauve flowers in it.

_Bluebells. Jane is here. _

Lisbon wished her heart hadn't caught in her chest the way it had. She sat down deliberately, and began to unpack files onto her desk. He must be in the attic. If he thought she was going to make the first move, well, she'd already done that. He knew where she was.

"Lisbon?"  
She looked up to see Jane at the door. In his familiar pinstriped suit and corn-blue shirt you would be forgiven for thinking nothing had changed about him. Lisbon knew him well though. She could see the bravado in his winning smile, and noticed that he stood in the doorway, rather than waltzing in as though he owned the place.

"Hey Jane. You're in early."  
Jane put his hands in his pockets and shrugged, rocking forward a little on his feet. "Well, I wasn't sure I worked here anymore, and it's hard to be on time for a job you might not have."  
Lisbon sighed and put down her pen. "Cho tells me that officially, you've been on leave since the shooting, except for that one time I asked you to drop by my office." Lisbon didn't even try to keep the wry humour out of her voice.

Jane looked down at the floor, then brought his gaze up to meet hers. "Thank you, Lisbon."  
"Don't thank me" Lisbon expostulated "Thank Cho. I had nothing to do with it."  
Jane's smile raised his cheekbones as he chuckled silently to himself. "I'll do that. So, what have we been up to lately?" The wording of his question was ambiguous and made Lisbon fleetingly uncomfortable. "Cho and Rigsby caught a case a few days back, but our first priority has to be finding Van Pelt – what do you make of the marionette?"

"Marionette?" Jane gave her a quizzical frown. Lisbon realised that since she had been absent, no one had been filling Jane in on developments in the case. She grabbed the file with photos of the evidence found at the Red Curtain in it and tossed it to Jane.

He scrutinised the photo. "The ritual practices of Haitian Voodoo and Pueblo cultures such as the Hopi include the making of wooden dolls as vessels for spirits to inhabit." He murmured.  
Lisbon frowned. "Is that what you think this is?"  
Jane gave the photo a cursory glance. "No. This is a pretty standard, mass-produced item which he probably found in the props shed at the theatre. Which suggests that taking Grace was not a plan but a crime of opportunity. It's likely that he left the doll because he couldn't pass up the symbolic value: reminding us that he is the puppet-master." Jane sneered at this last point, and dropped the file on the table.

"What about the blood on the lips?" Lisbon carefully avoided saying "her blood" although lab reports had confirmed it was Van Pelt's.  
"It could be a statement about Grace as a sexually-attractive woman." Jane said, a little hesitantly. "He implied that Grace was a trade for Lorelei, who was probably having a sexual relationship with him."  
Lisbon's jaw set in disgust. "You think he's raping her?"  
Jane swallowed, looking pale. "I don't know, Lisbon. He might just want Rigsby to think that."  
Lisbon looked surprised at the thought Red John would know about all of their interpersonal relationships. She had previously thought he was only interested in how each of them related to Jane. She looked up at him, eyes steely and angry. "We've _got_ to find her."

He met her eyes sadly. "We will."  
This made Lisbon swallow hard. Clearly, Jane's predictions about the state Van Pelt would be in when they found her, he'd rather not share. Abruptly she changed the subject.

"You know you'll have to see the staff psychologist about all this." She said.  
Jane grimaced comically. "I'm not a real agent, so I don't _have_ to do anything."  
"Jane, you shot Red John. Twice. It couldn't hurt to talk to someone." Privately, Lisbon thought it might do Jane good to get a few things off his chest. If he was ever going to heal, if they were ever going to pursue a deeper relationship, he was going to need to work through some things.  
Jane watched these thoughts surface on her features. "You really want me to go?"  
She gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes Jane, I do."

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a wide-eyed, playful smile. "Alright Lisbon, _one_ session, as a favour to you."  
Lisbon tried to conceal her shock. Never in a million years did she think Jane would actually go willingly to counselling. "Uhuh," she said, looking back at her paperwork "Well, you play nicely with the doctor."  
"They're not doctors, Lisbon" Jane said irritably "They're professional busybodies."  
"As opposed to what you do for a living." Lisbon shot back.  
He pulled his head back into a smug grin and gestured around him. "This hardly constitutes a living. It's more like a hobby."

Lisbon shrugged and laughed. It was good to have things feel normal again, even for a moment. Jane went to leave, then popped his head back in the door. "Oh, and Lisbon?"

She looked up.  
"Thanks for the flowers." He gave her a knowing smile.  
"Lisbon looked up at him blankly. "What flowers?"  
Jane blinked, shocked for a second, until he saw a smile creep onto her features.  
"You're getting better, Lisbon." He smiled with paternal pride. "You almost had me."

Just then, the elevator dinged, and Jane retreated to the attic before the CBI had the chance to begin the morning bustle.

"Yes Jane." Lisbon thought. "I almost did."


	11. Snow White and Rose Red

Snow White and Rose Red.

"You know, I _am_ ready." Van pelt stretched like a cat and gave her captor a sultry pout.  
Partridge smiled. "I just want things to be perfect for your grand return." He walked behind her and lay his hands gently on her bare shoulders. "These are not strangers you have to fool. They're your friends – your CBI family – detecting liars is part of their job."

"Jane detects the liars." Van Pelt scoffed. "The rest of us are just his muscle."  
"Oh Grace." Partridge chided. "Don't be cruel to your colleagues. They do good work. And _you _managed to find my hiding place, after all." He gave her an indulgent smile.

A bitter expression came over her face. "That's because I stopped thinking like them a long time ago."  
She looked up defiantly. "And that's exactly why this will work. After O'Laughlin, I changed, and they pretended not to notice. Don't you think they'll make allowances for me after my _terrifying_ ordeal?" She gave him a pleased smile.

"The violence was always inside you, Grace." Partridge brushed her cheek affectionately with the back of his knuckles. "O'Laughlin was just the catalyst. And look at you now, a vision. Blake's perfect harmony of light and dark."  
Grace smiled courteously at the compliment, then ran her fingers through Partridge's hair. "I wish you wouldn't be so _dramatic_. You don't need the bells and whistles to convince people you're powerful. You just _are_."  
Partridge lifted his milky lip into a sneer. "I prefer to think of my showmanship as attention to detail."  
Van Pelt laughed warmly. "You can't handle criticism any better than he can. I feel like getting to know you _is_ the same thing as knowing Jane." She kissed him on the forehead.

"It is." He agreed. "And soon, you'll be able to prove just _how_ well you know Jane."  
Van Pelt's eyes lit up.  
"_Very_ soon" Partridge continued "you'll be among them, helping them to see the truth. Getting them ready to join _our_ family."  
Van Pelt bowed her head a little. "Do you really think we'll be able to get them to _see_?" she frowned. "Jane, and even Cho might understand, but Lisbon and Wayne?"  
"Jane is working on Lisbon for us." Partridge cooed. "Wayne's a straight arrow though."  
"And you promise" Van Pelt turned to him cooly "that we don't give up on Wayne? We work on him, as long as it takes?"  
"I have no intention of killing him." Partridge said flatly. "Everyone can be got to. We just have to find the right gift."  
"What about Sarah? He's riddled with guilt about how their relationship ended." Van Pelt offered.

Partridge smiled. She was almost ready. A layperson might see his work as brainwashing, but it was far more subtle than that. He was opening her up, helping her access deeply held beliefs that for the sake of morality, she would normally deny. He was bringing forward her_ true_ self. And she was beautiful.

"I'll consider it." he said. "It's time you rested."  
Van Pelt gave him a coy smile. "Coming to bed?"  
Partridge kissed the tips of her fingers, looking into her eyes with brazen desire. "Regrettably, not yet. You sleep."  
Amused, Van Pelt sidled out of the room into the bedroom he had set up in the adjoining basement for her. He waited until he could hear her soft, heavy breathing before he crept in. Some suggestions were easiest to plant when the subject was sleeping.

He looked at the liquid fire of her hair pooled around her head. She would be the one to succeed with Jane where so many others had failed. He would convert them all, make them acolytes. They would worship him as he killed them.

That was true power.

And if she failed? Well, as soon as she left for her mission, he'd keep his appointment to change his face, make a few phone calls, and arrange to move on.

They wouldn't be able to use her against him.


	12. Behind the Red Mask

**Behind the Red Mask**

**Author's note:** _This is my first attempt at a serialised fanfiction and I'd like to thank you for reading and leaving comments as it is very motivating! For those of you who were a little shocked at the direction taken in the last chapter, let me reassure you that there is a plan… _

The grey light coming through the attic window hinted to Jane that it would rain before the day was through. Even thought he was staring solemnly into space as usual, his empty tea cup poised reassuringly on the desk in front of him, Jane felt restless.

He knew he needed Lisbon's help for part of his plan, a plan he knew very well she wouldn't approve of. But he also knew that the best way to handle Lisbon in situations like these was to present a complete, precise plan before he demanded anything crazy of her. It was a kind of misdirection, making her focus on whether or not details of the plan would work, rather than whether or not they ought to go through with the scheme in the first place.

He had printed paper copies of all the documents from Rigsby's USB, which now sat on top of the stack to his right. He no longer needed the papers, as he had committed everything on them to memory, especially Partridge's forensic reports. As one would expect, he was very good at his job. Partridge may have thought the macabre lab geek he was pretending to be was just an act, but Jane knew better. After meeting him, and reading the reports, Jane felt he was finally getting under Partridge's skin.

He was meticulous, intelligent, controlling. He had been an effeminate and powerless only child, bullied at school, Jane guessed, probably with a domineering mother and absent father. This made him sneaky, manipulative, and savagely cruel whenever he was able to snatch a moment of power over others. He enjoyed mind games and loved power and attention; this attracted him to killing more than the violence itself. He had no problem with the violence though; he intellectualised it as an expression of his will, and was able to see it very clinically, as an art form.

In fact, he may well have worked in morgues before, or studied medicine or anatomy. Jane was going to have to study the way he cut his victims very precisely so he was able to imitate him. Partridge would be able to see any hesitation in his cuts. And as frustrated as Partridge was by cheap imitations of his "work", Jane knew the only thing that would enrage him more was a forgery that was a little _too_ talented.

Jane swallowed, thinking about the grisly things he was going to have to do in order to finally catch Red John. He could no longer pretend it was just a part he was playing. Red John _was_ Partridge as much as he was Roy Tagliaferro or any other identity he had worn. And once Jane pulled this last stunt, he would _become_, to some extent, the kind of monster Red John was hoping for.

He picked up the USB. He had been avoiding giving it back to Rigsby because he was ashamed of taking it in the first place. As he headed for the stairs, he put it in his pocket. Given that he was heading somewhere far more uncomfortable today, he could leave the USB on Rigsby's desk on the way there…


	13. Red Flags

**Red Flags**

"Hi Mr. Jane, I'm glad we were able to make time for each other today." The psychologist shook Jane's hand, coolly reminding him that he had not shown up for his first appointment.

Jane gave her a measured glance as he shook her hand. Dr. Abernathy was a middle-aged African-American lady with a loose bob cut, dark slacks and a burgundy blouse. Her outfit projected that she was a no-nonsense, by-the-book professional, but the haircut and her steady pulse upon meeting him told Jane she had that certain amount of moral latitude or pliability that was necessary for dealing with people in her line of work.

"Take a seat." She gestured openly into the room where three identical comfortable chairs were arranged around a small circular laminate table. Allowing him to choose his chair was supposed to make him feel comfortable, Jane knew. He chose the chair whose back was against a solid wall, facing the door, which he knew was the "defensive" position. Dr. Abernathy took the chair opposite. She took out Jane's folder, and placed some foolscap paper inside.

Jane smiled; there were already several files in the folder with coloured post-it tabs sticking out of them. His eyes moved from the folder up to the psychologist's face. "You've heard of me, then."  
She gave a low chuckle. "Yes, Mr. Jane, I have. Yours is a well-known name throughout the CBI, I would think."  
Jane chose not to reply. Instead he leaned back into the chair. "So, what are the rules?"  
Abernathy tilted her head a little. "Rules?"  
Jane sank into his preferred passive-aggressive tone: "Yes, rules. Your job involves a fundamental conflict of interest; you're here to help your clients with their problems, but you're also here to red-flag their issues and report on them to their superiors. At what point do the things I say to you stop being confidential?"

"Well, like any other counsellor, I am obliged to contact the authorities if I believe you intend to cause harm to yourself or anyone else." Abernathy cautioned "But your personal statements and details are kept strictly in my private notes. I write reports that assess whether an agent is ready to return to active duty, but I talk in terms of emotions and disorders, not names and dates."

"That's a good sales pitch." Jane observed. "Of course, I'm not a real agent, so my "duty" isn't all that active."  
Abernathy smiled. "Most of my clients are detectives, so a bit of suspicion about what I do is not unusual. And Mr. Jane, you've killed two men and injured a third on the job, how much more _active_ do you think "active duty" could be?"

Jane raised his eyebrows and laughed. "So I remind you of a cop?"  
Abernathy shook her head. "Plenty of agents within these walls have the same motivations for their work as you do. If the desire for personal justice was not so powerful a motivator, the Bureau and other organisations like it would be short-staffed. But agents are normally most comfortable working within a regimented system. You prefer to situate yourself as the outsider, which, I confess, makes me puzzled as to why you are here talking to me today."

Jane's eyes traced the geometric pattern on her floor rug. He looked up at her, a little embarrassed, and shrugged, the nonchalance gone. "I need someone to talk to."  
Abernathy put down the file and notepad in her lap as a sign of good faith. It was hard to reconcile the pensive man before her with the rumours of his childish behaviour. "What's on your mind?"

"Two weeks ago, I made plans to kill myself." Jane tried to keep his voice even. "Plans that I obviously didn't go through with." He looked at Abernathy expectantly. She was thinking that he used this sort of bluntness as a defence mechanism. She was right.  
"What sort of plans did you make?"  
The pitch of Jane's voice lowered. "I bought a knife."  
Abernathy nodded like she wanted him to give her more details, but he couldn't. If he told her about the carnival, she'd spend months overanalysing it.

"Is this the first time you've ever thought about committing suicide?" she asked.  
"No." Jane admitted. "After my wife and child were killed, I attempted it."  
Her eyes darkened a little with empathy. "Did you use a knife then?"  
"I was in a psychiatric ward at the time." Jane said with a stiff smile, as though he was telling a joke to no one in particular. "I overdosed on pills."  
"And did you seek out somebody to talk to afterwards?"  
Jane frowned at the unexpected question. "No."  
"So what do you think makes this time different?" Abernathy leaned back and let him think it over.

Jane swallowed thickly. "Wanting to kill yourself after you've killed your wife and daughter is a natural response. Proportionate. This time, I felt I was a little out of line."

Abernathy paused for a moment. "Mr. Jane, would you allow me to make an observation?"  
"Please." Jane replied.  
"You just said "after you've killed your wife and daughter" as though you were the one holding the knife. I know you feel you contributed to their deaths, that you put them in harm's way, but you did not _kill_ them. That is an important distinction to make. Unless you feel that you personally control Red John?"

Jane said nothing.

"I also find that clients rarely walk in to their first appointment and tell me about their suicide ideation. In fact, you've offered up traumatic events in this conversation which for others would qualify as their deepest darkest secrets. This makes me think you must feel terribly over whatever it is you're avoiding talking about."

Jane blanched a little.  
"That was two observations." He noted belatedly.

Abernathy smiled. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

Jane took a moment before he began. "Recently, I hurt someone that I care about." He gave Abernathy a sad smile. "She forgave me, of course, she always does. That's the problem. Some things are supposed to be unforgivable."

Abernathy leaned forward, like she was giving advice to an old friend. "It seems to me you might be afraid of forgiving yourself, of giving yourself permission to have a new life. But, Mr. Jane, life happens. Maybe you don't deserve it. Maybe you'll screw it up. Maybe the things that you have will be taken away from you. A whole lot of things _could_ happen. But you don't control every single one of them. And unless you _do_ kill yourself, you can't avoid life forever."

Jane made uneasy eye-contact with her.

Abernathy gave him an encouraging smile. "Normally, towards the end of a session, I give clients homework – things to work on during the week. But something tells me homework isn't your thing, so let's think of it more like an experiment: the next time you find yourself angling to control the situation with this person that you care about, try saying or doing whatever you would do if you_ weren't _the architect of all you survey."

Jane stood up slowly, gave the psychologist a hesitant smile, and bowed out of the room without saying anything. He strolled through the corridors back to the Serious Crimes Unit. Abernathy had said little more than what was common sense, he told himself. Not much help, really. Even if he talked to Lisbon about that morning in the hospital, even if they came to an understanding, it wouldn't last for long.

Once he had carried out his latest plan, even Lisbon wouldn't forgive him.


	14. Red Herring

**Red Herring**

Rigsby crashed down the phone and staggered to his feet. Cho looked up expectantly.

"They've found her." Rigsby blurted eagerly, pulling on his coat. "Sacramento P.D. found her."

Cho already had his keys in hand. "I'll drive." He alerted Lisbon then jogged down to the car before Rigsby went without him. Lisbon was waiting for Jane. They would follow in another car.

They pulled up at a weather-beaten house on Rose Street, whose flyscreen door rattled ominously on its hinges. A Sacramento PD car was parked on the curb. Cho and Rigsby were waved over by a Hispanic police woman in a baseball cap, who introduced herself as Officer Mentez.

"Where's Grace?" Rigsby panted.  
"We found her inside, chained to the radiator by her own handcuffs." Mentez looked Rigsby's shaking form up and down with something like sympathy, then addressed the rest of her conversation to Cho. "It's not good. She's been badly beaten, and we're pretty sure the rape kit's going to test positive."

The veins popped out in Rigsby's neck. His face went red and he looked like every tendon in his body was going to snap. Cho turned to his partner. "Check out the house and see if he left anything behind." Rigsby knew he was being handled with kid gloves, but he needed to do something proactive to keep him from punching through the weatherboard wall of the house. So he stalked off, obeying Cho's request. Mentez waited until he was out of earshot before she turned to Cho. "The bastard even shaved her head."

Cho snarled and had to clench his fists and fold his arms across his chest to gain some semblance of control. He took all the details Sac PD had, and made a courtesy call to the team assigned to Grace's disappearance, before collecting Rigsby from inside the house. The place had been thoroughly wiped over, so they found nothing useful.

"Where's Agent Van Pelt now?" Cho asked as they prepared to leave.

"They took her to the hospital to get checked over this morning, then they were going to drive her back to CBI to make a statement." Mentez said. They nodded and headed towards their car. "Hey," Mentez called out. "Good luck catching the son-of-a-bitch."

Jane had just arrived at the CBI and met Lisbon in the doorway of her office when her eyes widened at something she could see over his shoulder. Slowly, he turned to see Van Pelt, flanked by two uniformed police. Her head was covered with auburn fuzz, a few day's regrowth at most. Her top lip was swollen and her right eye was darkened with a livid purple bruise. She was pale and shaky, wearing borrowed clothes, and her eyes were sorrowful but determined.

"Grace!" Lisbon strode over to her and clasped her hands, which Van Pelt widened into a hug. Lisbon held her tight for a long moment and said into her shoulder "It's good to have you back."

The officers nodded and, sensing they were no longer needed, melted into the background. Lisbon drew back, and went to see them out.

Grace gave Jane a sad, determined smile. "Don't look at me like that."  
He smiled and said gently "Like what?" although he already knew what she was going to say.  
"Like I'm another one of Red John's victims. I'm not. I'm alive."  
Jane's eyes crinkled tenderly. "I'm glad you are, Grace."

Just then Rigsby and Cho rushed into the bullpen. "Grace?!" Rigsby gasped, striding towards her.  
"Keep him away from me!" Van Pelt hissed, shrinking behind Jane. " He's the one that did _this_ to me." she gave a rough gesture to her face and head.

Rigsby gaped and stopped dead. So did Lisbon who had just walked in behind him. Cho's eye's flicked to Jane's who confirmed his suspicions with a horrified glance.  
_  
This was the beginning of Red John's mind games_.

Lisbon stepped protectively between Rigsby and Grace, putting a gentle hand on his chest to distance him. "Why don't we go into my office and talk?" she flicked a knowing look to Jane who followed on her heels, and closed the office door behind him.

Outside, Rigsby was at breaking point. He stared at the closed door, then at Cho, running his hand over his head and letting out flabbergasted gasps of air.

Cho put a hand on his shoulder. "He's been messing with her head, man. She doesn't mean it." he gently pushed Rigsby down into his chair at his desk "And now he's messing with yours."

Rigsby leaned forward and put his head in his hands, unable to look up.  
Cho patted him twice on the back, then left him to it, giving him a moment to breathe.

Lisbon sat Van Pelt down on her couch, and gently pulled her office chair around so that she could face her. Jane settled beside her on the couch.

"Take us through what happened, Grace, if you're up for it." Lisbon asked quietly.

Van Pelt nodded and dropped her head. "When we got the call to Felpham Crescent and fanned out, I split from Cho out the back and went to flank the other side of the house. Then I looked up at the two-story place beside me, and I suddenly knew Red John was in there instead. He'd want the higher ground, and he'd never wait around to be sprung in his own trap. I know I wouldn't." Jane stirred slightly, surprised at her intuition and Van Pelt looked up, but focused her attention on Lisbon. "I didn't call it over the coms because I thought he might be tapped into them and listening to us. I wanted to sneak up on him, to take the first shot myself." she looked sideways at Jane, mildly apologetic, but he just nodded. "He was in the house, but when I found his set-up, radio, binoculars and all in the attic, Red John wasn't there." Van Pelt paused, and her tone of voice lowered, like she was kicking herself for being so stupid. "He snuck up behind me with a taser. Once I was on the ground he knocked me out with a needle full of some drug."

She trembled a little bit. Lisbon reached out and rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. Van Pelt continued: "When I woke up, I chained in a room without windows. Red John would come every now and then. He kept promising me a visitor. No matter what I said, he just kept talking in circles. Then he brought Wayne." Van Pelt shuddered. "I don't know what Red John did to him but he wouldn't talk to me or listen to me...he wasn't _human_." her eyes glistened and she looked up at Jane "You can't hypnotise someone to do something against their will, can you?" she caught herself on a sob.

Jane didn't know if she expected an answer.

Lisbon took a measured breath. "I'm not doubting you Grace, but you know Red John likes to play mind games. Is there a possibility that Red John confused you or used a look-alike or..."

Van Pelt gave Lisbon a sneer, her eyes glittering with spiteful tears. "Wayne and I were _lovers_, Boss. I know what he likes." she spat bitterly. "It was _him_."

Lisbon nodded and patted her hand. "You rest in here for a little bit, I'll go make you a coffee and then, later on this afternoon, we'll get your formal statement. Then we have to think about who we send home with you tonight." Van Pelt started to argue but she was clearly exhausted. Lisbon encouraged her to lay down on the couch, and then closed the door. On impulse, she locked it, then threw a swift glance at Rigsby in the bullpen before ushering Jane into Interrogation Room 2, and shutting the door.

She gave him her impatient what-do-you-make-of-this look.  
Jane widened his eyes and mock-whistled.

"He's hypnotized her, right?" she gripped the back of the chair and leaned on it. "That's the only explanation."

"That's the most likely explanation." Jane nodded, tone perfectly even. "Red John has done these awful things to her and used her own memories of her time with Rigsby to implant the suggestion that he was there." he looked up. "Of course, the joke falls apart as soon as the kit results come in." he looked thoughtful. "So why give Grace back?"

"I don't know." Lisbon sighed. "I'm more worried about how we deal with Van Pelt. There's no chance you can undo Red John's suggestion?"

Jane shook his head. "It's too early yet. I'd need to know more about what he made her see…" he looked uncomfortable, like he was holding something back.

"What?" Lisbon demanded, already dreading the answer.

"This is a pretty cheap trick." Jane observed. "It has shock value, but there's no irony, no lesson. He could have done much more with a tool like Van Pelt to get at us. But if it was _true_… it would tear the unit apart." he looked up to see how Lisbon was taking his suggestion.

She was mortified. "How could it be true?!"  
Jane shrugged and shifted a few steps away from her before making eye contact. "Rigsby's got a low threshold. And he's been on pain medication. It is possible Red John broke into Rigsby's place and…"

"No, it's not." Lisbon snapped, pretty close to her own breaking point. "Like you say, you can't be hypnotised to act against your will."  
"Ahh" Jane countered "But sleeping with Grace is not _against_ Rigsby's will – it is the one desire which is the most primal part of his will, and one that he's been repressing."  
"She's beaten black and blue, Jane – what repressed part of Rigsby wanted to do _that_ to her?" Lisbon demanded.

He sighed, not wanting to push her any further. "It doesn't quite add up."  
Lisbon straightened up curtly. "I'll have to stay with her tonight – she can't be on her own after this. But what about tomorrow? We need to keep an eye on her but she won't want to be in the building with Rigsby."  
"I'll talk with him." Jane raised his hands as he spoke in a symbol of surrender "Just to be sure he's not under any hypnotic suggestions."  
Lisbon nodded slowly, and left the room to go and make Van Pelt a hot drink. Jane strolled out after her into the bullpen and pulled up a chair beside Rigsby, whose shoulders were slumped as he leaned into his desk.

"What's she saying?" he asked Jane in a low voice.  
"She's traumatised." Jane said gently. "That's to be expected."  
Rigsby set his chin, and nodded, almost to himself.  
Jane put his hand on Rigsby's arm, and patted it rhythmically. "It's a terrible thing. Trouble keeps coming to us in waves. Van Pelt. The Red Curtain. Felpham Crescent. Try and let it go."  
Rigsby nodded, head dropping a little.  
"Let those waves roll out to sea. Take some deep breaths. In and out with the waves."  
Rigsby's eyes looked a little glassy. Jane smiled.  
"Had you been to that house in Rose Street before?"  
"No." Rigsby replied.  
"Have you seen Red John since the incident at Felpham's cresent?"  
"No." Rigsby said again, without hesitation.  
Jane nodded. "And Grace…" here Rigsby wavered at the sound of her name "do you still love her?"  
"Yes." Rigsby said.  
"Do you want to sleep with her?"  
"Yes."  
"Have you slept with her in the past month?"  
"No."  
Jane patted him twice on the shoulder. "I don't think you have anything to worry about."  
Rigsby looked at him. "What?"  
Jane gave him a patient smile. "Try not to worry. Grace will remember the truth in time."  
Rigsby gave him an awkward nod, still a little out of it as Jane made for the kitchen. He needed tea.

Cho had been watching and intercepted him.  
"You really think he needs more of that?" Cho raised his chin. "More mind games?"  
"I had to hear the truth from Rigsby." Jane said "And the truth is, he doesn't have any blocks. No one's hypnotised him."  
"Except you, just then." Cho said pointedly.  
Jane filled the kettle, turning his back to Cho. He let the pause lengthen before he turned around to face Cho again. "I'm on my way to Lisbon now to tell her to rule out the possibility of Rigsby's involvement." Jane said reassuringly.  
"Don't bother." Lisbon said from the doorway. She walked up to her agent and consultant with tight lips, her shoulders and jaw angular, an expression of disappointment and confusion Jane well knew. "I just got a call from the lab technicians who rushed Van Pelt's results for us." She lowered her voice. "The residue and lack of semen suggests the rapist used a condom. But there was trace DNA."

Jane and Cho froze.

Lisbon swallowed. "It's a match for Wayne Rigsby."


	15. Watery Red Eyes

**Watery Red Eyes**

Jane dunked an orange pekoe teabag meditatively in his blue cup, occupying the kitchen's door frame and looking out onto the bullpen. The acrid citrus made him feel things more acutely. Rigsby's desk was empty. Lisbon spent most of her time working on the case table in the bullpen, since Van Pelt felt safe in her office and nowhere else. Cho's anger at Jane was settling into a grudge that widened the normal freeze-out radius around him.

Red John's plan was working. The CBI family was falling apart.

Jane didn't have time for these sort of problems. He had his own research to do, and part of it involved a very long drive to Texas. But the friction in the team was crackling like static in the air, and it was distracting.

He sidled up to the case-desk and rested his cup and saucer there. Lisbon looked up from her pile of papers with a harrassed expression on her face.

"Where's Rigsby?" he asked in an innocent voice, as if he didn't already know.  
"Home playing with Ben." Lisbon's forehead puckered into a frown. "He took some personal time after being officially questioned yesterday."  
"He's innocent." Jane said mildly.  
"I know." Lisbon said into her paperwork.  
"You know, but you don't _know_." Jane said with that annoying certainty. "It's a plant. Partridge is a forensics expert. All he needed for trace DNA was to steal a toothbrush or to go through Rigsby's garbage." Lisbon's brow became a fraction less puckered, but she all she said was: "It's a miracle that with two of our agents personally involved that they haven't taken the Red John case away from us. We can't show favouritism."

"Please, Lisbon - policework is all about favouritism and discretion." Jane was getting that deeply sardonic, cynical tone in his voice as he spoke. "It's the reason I still work here. And the reason that Bertram hasn't kicked us off the case - he's worried about another Bosco incident."

With the casual mention of Sam Bosco, Jane knew he'd pushed a little far. The shutters drew in Lisbon's eyes and she put her head back in her paperwork.

Fine. He would start with Van Pelt.

Jane ventured up to the door of Lisbon's office and tapped the door with the back of his index knuckle. Van Pelt had been reading through some papers at Lisbon's desk and started like a frightened deer. "Oh Jane, it's you." He could hear the relief in her voice. Jane noticed that aside from the bruising, her face was thinner, and there were deep dark circles around her eyes. He was disturbed to find that by purely aesthetic measures, she looked quite comely with her cropped hair, although at the same time forlorn and vulnerable.

"Are you working on the diver case?" Jane asked, nodding to the folder.  
"Just a background check on the dive-shop owner, Pete Sandas." She put the notes down on the desk. "Have you come to check on me?"  
"Yes." Jane never saw the point in lying in such situations. "Among other things, Lisbon might like to know when she's getting her office back."  
Van Pelt smiled, revealing the pearlescent arc of her teeth, and looked at the floor. "Nobody knows how to talk to me, out there. I know they're revolted by what Red John did to me, but they way they're dealing with it, it feels like they're revolted by _me_..." there was some heat in her voice, but then she sighed. "People must have done this to you, when your wife and child were killed, _I_ must have done it." she shook her head as though that were so long ago. "How did you put up with it?"

He smiled, his face glowing with gentle humour. "I'd earned a little revulsion."

Van Pelt reached up and ran her fingertips over the fuzz by her left temple, a jittery smile twisted onto her face. "Sometimes I feel like I earned this." Her eyes pooled with tears. Jane looked soulfully at her and she stood up, hands pressed to the desk for support. "I stopped believing in what we're doing here. In right and wrong. In justice. After I shot O'Laughlin, all I believed in was power and control." she shrugged, and cast a look away from Jane and over her shoulder. "I was stupid enough to think I had those things through my job." Her lip quivered and she took a step forward. Reaching out a hand to Jane she graspd at his vest, as though to steady herself. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder and slowly, awkwardly, drew her in for a hug as more tears began to splush from her eyes.

She clung to him for a while, letting out a sob every now and then so her breath and tears made his neck and shirt-front warm and damp. He cradled her head with his hand and rested his chin on the crown of her head, as he might have done with his daughter if she had been alive and upset at one of the dramatic epochs of teenagehood.

"You're the only man I feel safe around." she snuffled belatedly into his shoulder. "You're not macho, not like a real man at all."  
Jane broke into a grin at his own expense and gave her a checking glance. "Thank you, Grace."  
Smiling, she looked up from his shoulder and chuckled. "You know what I mean." her watery red eyes looked earnestly into his, and made her seem in need of protection. Jane was very susceptible to that.

"Do you think, we could talk sometimes? That you can help me...get through this?"  
He nodded.

She stared into his eyes for a moment too long, so that it suddenly occurred to him what a compromising position he was in. He was in the midst of gently taking her hands from around him and stepping back from her when she froze. She gazed into his eyes as though terrified they might burn her. Then, seeming to brave her fears, she put her hand on his cheek and rushed in to kiss him. His eyes widened in surprise and panic as her lips, salty with tears, met his.

But from the doorway, all Lisbon could see through watery eyes was the side of Jane's face, locked in an intimate embrace with Van Pelt. Their bodies inches away from each other. Her hand on his cheek, his hand by her waist.


	16. Red Arrows in the Chest

**Red Arrows in the Chest**

"Oh God! Oh God." Lisbon stuttered. Pulling back from the vision of Jane and Van Pelt entwined, she staggered backwards out into the hallway, and fled.

Jane's eyes widened in dismay, quickly computing how this must look. He turned to call "Lisbon, wait!" over his shoulder, and never saw the predatorial smile pass fleetingly over Van Pelt's lips. He turned back to Grace, unsure how to handle what had just happened. She chose this moment to look at him, eyes brimming, and burst into tears.

"Oh God." Lisbon was stuck in overdrive, the same few thoughts running circuits through her head. "_It makes so much sense_." she told herself cruelly. _"They've got so much in common now...they've been through so much...and he's a sucker for the damsels in distress..."_ Lisbon kicked herself for feeling uncharitably towards Grace considering what she had been through. She looked up and realised she had been walking briskly up and down every corridor in the CBI and was now heading away from everyone, towards the roof.

"Get a grip." she told herself firmly. This was a problem that extended further than the stress it placed on Jane and her and their working relationship. Grace was so vulnerable right now - did she even know what she was doing or was this some sort of strange psychological reaction to being assaulted? It was natural that she would want to be close to someone, and Jane was the least physically threatening man she knew. The curls. The suits. The tea. His gentle voice. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled...Lisbon's stomach growled as though her hunger was somehow linked in to her jealously as she replayed in her mind the way Grace had cupped his face and leaned in towards him. She wanted to get into her car and just_ drive_, get as far away from the offices as possible, maybe even stopping for a pint of chocolate chip ice-cream. But she couldn't face going back downstairs.

She had always thought...Jane had always made such a fuss of her. He had flirted with her...hadn't he? She gulped at the memory of their morning at the hospital. When he had said "I can't" she thought he meant he couldn't be intimate with anyone. But maybe he just couldn't be intimate with _her_.

She blushed beetroot red. She had mistaken Jane's friendship for something more. And he would have known it too, the bastard...

Looking up, Lisbon realized she was in the attic, pacing. Jane's attic. She examined his desk. His little black address book was there. A pile of well-thumbed documents...and some large dark textbooks that turned out to be anatomy atlases... Lisbon opened the front cover of one, and gasped aloud for the second time that day.

There were photos taped inside the front cover. Red John crime scene photos. They had directional arrows on them, marked in red over the wounds.

Why the hell did Jane have_ this_?

"Lisbon?"  
Jane's voice was unmistakeable but she still somehow felt surprised when she turned to see him striding towards her. The look on her face frightened him - like she was almost disgusted by his presence.

"You don't need to explain anything to me, Jane." she said flatly, holding her hands palm up in protest.  
"Obviously I do" Jane countered, hot under the collar "since you're clearly under some illusions about what just happened – "  
"You just be careful." Lisbon cut across him in her best lecturing tone "Grace has been through a lot so you'd better be serious if you want to drag her into – "

"Grace has been brainwashed." Jane announced as though this were news. Lisbon stopped. "Red John has convinced her that she wants a relationship with me and – "

"Oh please, Jane." Lisbon gave a low disparaging laugh. "You're seeing a Red John conspiracy where in actual fact there's just two hurt people who – "

Jane snorted in surprise and contempt. "You think I've known Grace for a decade and have never shown the slightest interest in her, but now that Red John has _raped_ her, I find her attractive?! What kind of sick monster do you think I _am_ Lisbon?"

Jane was more worked up than Lisbon had ever seen him. His blue eyes were clear and piercing, his chest was rising and falling with indignant anger.

But she wasn't going to let him storm out this time. She whirled around and grabbed the anatomy book off his desk and held the cover open in his face with one hand. "You tell me, Jane. What kind of sick monster spends his time doing this?"

Jane faltered and the anger left him. His mouth fell into a straight line and he leaned onto his back foot. "That," he paused "is research. It does require some explanation, but let's not get off the issue at hand. I didn't kiss Grace." his voice sounded strangely pained, less authoritative than it normally did. "She kissed me – and I was as surprised as you were."

Lisbon gave him a deadpan expression that told him that although she was listening, he was not convincing her. He continued: "Red John gave her back as a distraction – "

"I'm sick of the mind games, Jane." Lisbon broke in. "Sick of hearing that my team is being used as pawns in your chess game with Red John. Most of all I'm sick of hearing you explain away the things I have seen with my own two eyes. Your hand was on her waist, Jane." Lisbon's voice faltered a little.

"She had been crying. I was trying to..." he looked at Lisbon's hurt face and remembered, out of nowhere, what Dr Abernathy had said: next time, don't try to control the situation. Experiment.

Jane liked the symmetry: it seemed strangely appropriate to disprove the validity of Grace's kiss in the way that had just occurred to him. So he went for it.

He was almost panting with fear as he took a step towards her and rested his hands lightly on the rounds of her shoulders. He looked into her eyes, and although they were still hard and untrusting, he noticed her bottom lip was soft and trembling with fears of her own.

"I have no romantic interest in Grace." he said simply. "You know that." Slowly, as if leaving her time to protest, he moved his left hand up the curve of her shoulder and neck and let his fingers rest gently at the base of her head, cradling it. A smile of tremendous relief broke across his face when she did not stop him. He moved forward, letting his eyes close as though in blissful sleep as he kissed her. He felt the curve of her bottom lip come up to meet his, and her arms encircle his back. A tingling electric warmth flooded him. For a moment there was no darkness in the world.

He belonged.

In the first moment, all the anxieties that had been fueling the pair melted away. This allowed their rational minds time to return and panic over this new situation. What were they doing?!

Each felt the other tense and draw away at the same time. Jane gave her a sheepish glance and Lisbon almost laughed aloud to see Jane bashful. So hesitant and vulnerable when he was not in the control seat.

"You're enjoying this." he said in mock petulance. "The new power equilibrium between us."

"There has never_ been_ a power equilibrium Jane." Lisbon teased back. "I'm your boss, _and_ I have a gun." the merriment soured on her face. "I'm your boss." she said the words again uncomfortably.

Jane could see where this was going. "Don't worry, I won't file for sexual harassment." he smiled, taking a few steps back. "I just had a point to prove...about our little mix-up earlier."

That was it then. A kiss and nothing more. Lisbon didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

"What are you going to do about Grace?" She returned to best-friend mode.

"Red John returned her to us for a reason." Jane rationalised. "Whatever he has done to Grace makes her see me as an ally – someone she wants to get closer to. For now, I'm going to let her get close to me, and see if I can help undo whatever Red John has done, or at least figure out what he's trying to achieve."

"The last time you "got close" to someone associated with Red John, you slept with Lorelei Martins." Lisbon hissed. "This is_ Grace_ we're talking about. Even if she is some unwitting pawn in Red John's plans, you can't use her like that!"

"I have no intention of _using_ her at all." Jane said coldly, as though Lisbon ought to know he was above reproach. "We're just going to talk. She _needs_ someone to talk to."

Lisbon saw some truth in that. "I'll have my eye on you." she threatened nevertheless.

He nodded, smiling as he felt the balance of power shift in his favour once again. "You'd better wait a few moments before following me down." he joked, pushing his luck as he always did. "We don't want to feed the rumour mill."

He flashed her a self-satisfied grin and left.

Lisbon sighed. There it was. The boyish mask of Patrick Jane had snapped back into place. She was comforted that least, he had shown that he really did care for her, although they both knew there was no place for a romantic relationship in either of their lives.

She walked slowly back downstairs towards the bullpen, thinking the strange events of the morning over. Jane knew that showing her his vulnerabilities would make her trust him again...had she just been played?

No, that kiss felt very real – his chest pressed up against her, his hands and lips, soft and capable, delivering sensual caresses...

"Damn it!" Lisbon snapped out of it and cursed herself. He might not have been playing her, but he _had_ managed to wriggle out of one thing: he had never explained the "research" he was doing with the anatomy atlases...

She looked over to Jane's couch. He was occupying it, legs crossed, arms folded loosely over his chest, feigning sleep, with an enormous smile plastered all over his smug face.


	17. Red Faces and Green Eyed Monsters

**Red Faces and Green-Eyed Monsters**

Grace was a lithe figure leaning back against the kitchen counter, smiling and talking to Jane breezily as he made his tea. The easy manner of their conversation framed by the doorway was contrasted by the awkward glares they were receiving from the bullpen. Rigsby shifted in his chair as he watched them, earning a glance from Cho, who was worried about his partner.

_ He_ should be the one to take care of Grace, Rigsby stewed. Instead it was Jane she felt safe with. Jane who had convinced her to hold off on pressing charges, to allow him some time to prove Rigsby innocent. Jane who held her when she cried.

The terrible pain he felt when he thought of Grace hurt was channelled into pointless anger at the glib consultant. He knew it was ridiculous to feel cock-blocked in a situation like this: whatever Grace needed to feel better was what she should have. But why hadn't she _needed_ him? And why was _he _the face of her enemy? He couldn't have felt more low and despicable in her presence if he'd actually_ done_ the crime of which he was accused.

And his wasn't the only glare aimed at the two. Lisbon strode by, holding papers and looking purposeful on the way to her office, and shot them an extremely sharp look. It had been a little over a week since Jane had declared that he was going to "get close" to Grace, and since then, the two had been inseparable. Grace had tearfully apologized to Jane for the kiss, explaining that she was just confused, and Jane had brushed the event off like a gentleman. But Lisbon was beginning to wonder. Grace had been changed by her ordeal, and once or twice she thought she had seen a new expression on Grace's face when she was looking at Jane: like she was a cat, sizing up a particularly juicy mouse.

She shook her head and shut the door to her office. This was silly. Of course Grace wasn't herself. And maybe...was Lisbon a teeny bit jealous? It had also been about a week since that strange moment in the attic when a very frightened Jane had steeled himself to prove his loyalty and affection with a kiss.

But since then? Nothing. She could very well have imagined it. When he had time for Lisbon at all it was all boyish bravado. He was evasive and little more than useless on the case they were currently working, possibly because he spent so little time in the field – he was always at the CBI, keeping Grace company.

Lisbon grabbed a stack of papers from her in-tray. At least Jane had managed to coax Van Pelt out of her office.

Back in the break-room, Jane and Van Pelt had pulled up some chairs around the table.  
"So, did losing your family destroy _your_ moral compass?" Grace asked candidly. Their conversations always had the playful brusqueness common to two people who had experienced tragedy. But this was the first time Grace had asked so openly about his past. Jane dropped his gaze and gave a small laugh, as though he were recalling a private joke. Then he smiled, raised his eyes to meet hers, and answered her. "I always had a moral compass, I just didn't listen to it much. For a while, afterwards, I listened to it more." he stopped.

Grace gave him a teasing, searching smile. "But now?"  
Jane shrugged. "A moral compass isn't very helpful in my line of work."

This answer seemed to please Grace. "I'm sorry if I seem awful, I'm just glad to hear I'm not the only one. After everything, I just feel so...empty. Like I _should _care about what happened to me, about O'Laughlin and Red John and Rigsby, but I feel nothing. Free." she stopped and looked at him like maybe she'd gone too far. "Is that weird?"

Jane gave her a measured smile. "Maybe. But nobody who's interesting to talk to is normal."  
Grace smiled, and blushed a little.

"So, you feel _nothing_ when you look at Rigsby now?" Jane asked.

Van Pelt sighed. "Either he did do it or he didn't do it, and Red John just wants me to think that he did. But it won't change what I experienced. In my head _he was there_" she shuddered. "But what does it matter? Taking Rigsby to court or shooting Red John won't make me feel powerful again." she looked slyly at Jane's downcast expression, which was suddenly grim. "Being free from those notions of power and control, it's a gift, really."

Jane slowly raised his head and looked her in the eyes. "Hypothetically, if Red John did trick you into believing Rigsby was your attacker, why do _you_ think he did it?"

Van Pelt gave this some serious thought. "We saw his face, at Felpham Crescent. You shot him. All in all we got pretty damn close to catching him. Maybe he just needed a diversion, time to escape and recoup while we had our own distractions at home?"

Jane was impressed with her insight – her criminal instincts had certainly been sharpened by her experiences. "Or maybe," Jane ventured "he's planning something really big: a grand finale."

Van Pelt smirked. Jane was every bit as dramatic as Red John.

Lisbon strode into the break-room just then, jangling car keys. "We've got to go talk to the brother."

Jane hesitated.

Lisbon blanched. "You coming?"  
"Actually, I'm pretty comfortable here." Jane responded. "Why don't you go ahead, and I'll catch the next one?"

Lisbon's posture became rigid. "This is a murder investigation. You can't just pick and choose which suspects you want to pay attention to."

Jane took a lengthy sip of his tea. Van Pelt suppressed a giggle.

"I mean it Jane. You're either in or out." Lisbon huffed.

Jane took his time replacing his teacup on his saucer. "Then I guess I'm out."

"Sorry, boss." said Van Pelt in a way that seemed to Lisbon like she was not sorry at all. "As soon as Dr Abernathy signs off on me, Jane and I will be back in the field, I promise."

_Jane and I_. Lisbon's face scrunched up and she stomped out of the building with squared shoulders. Grace _was_ playing him, Lisbon was sure of it. What if...

_What if she was working for Red John?_  
That was a crazy thought, she chided herself as she hauled herself up into the driver's seat. How long had she known Van Pelt? Grace would never...  
_But that's not Grace back there_. a little voice in her head insisted. _Something's not right_.  
She paused in the middle of reversing out of the car-space. Why would Red John even _want_ Van Pelt to seduce Jane? Lisbon's mind turned to the marionette they found at the Red Curtain. Was Grace a new method of controlling Jane? Of turning him into a disciple?

Well it wouldn't work, Lisbon thought firmly, pulling out onto the street. Not because Jane was too clever to fall for it – he was just stupid enough – but because she would put a stop to it.

She clip-clopped back into the building just after four, to find Jane lying on the couch, hands behind his head, talking to Grace who was perched beside his legs. Rigsby looked visibly ill and Cho had his head down ignoring the whole scene.

"Jane." she barked. "My office. Now."  
Jane exchanged a knowing glance with Grace, got up languidly, and sauntered a few paces ahead of her into her office.  
Lisbon strode in behind him and banged the door shut.  
"What is going on out there?" Lisbon yelled in amazement. "Do you call that professional conduct?"  
"Well, no." Jane admitted. "But not much of my conduct at the best of times could be classed as professional." Lisbon looked like she was about to blow a fuse. He raised his eyebrows and looked defensively at her. "I stopped her from pressing charges against Rigsby, didn't I? I got her out of your office. The poor girl's only been back a week, what more do you want?"

"I want you two to stop loitering and snickering around the bullpen like a couple of lovesick teenagers – can't you see it's driving Rigsby crazy?" she asked plaintively.

"So _Rigsby's_ jealous, yet you're the one bringing the house down?"  
Jane enquired meaningfully.

Lisbon shot him a black look and shook her head, trying not to punch him in the nose. "She's playing you Jane. Grace has been different since she's been back – dividing you away from the team. What if she's not just struggling to re-adjust. What if she's...

"Working for Red John?" Lisbon blinked in surprise. "Please, Lisbon, if you noticed something was up, of course I must have seen it."

She ground her teeth and lowered her voice. "I can't believe –"  
"Keep yelling, Lisbon." Jane broke in. "With your door closed, she won't be able to hear distinct words from the bullpen, but she'll know you're mad."

"I can't believe you played me!" she said, louder, more exasperated, face turning red. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jane shrugged. "I had to let Grace think she was successfully conning us, and you're not that good an actor._ She_ on the other hand." Jane gave a low whistle. "She's pretty good. Red John has coerced her a bit of course, played on her own traumatic experiences to turn her – she's felt like an outsider at the CBI for some time now." Lisbon blinked: this was news to her "but she's clever enough to blend the truth with her lies to give them substance, and that makes her hard to read. I was only _certain_ she was consciously manipulating me this morning. She referred to her new outlook on life as "a gift." Jane gave a bitter snort.

But Lisbon wasn't interested in a detailed analysis of how he'd come to realise that Grace was a Red John mole. What she wanted to know is "What do we do now?"

"We'll have to move fast." Jane said. "She'll figure out the dynamic had changed between us soon. It's time to put my plan into action."

Lisbon looked annoyed. "What plan?"

Jane stared at her as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  
"My plan. My plan to catch Red John."


	18. Bloodied Hands

**Bloodied Hands  
**

The body was called in at 3 a.m. Rigsby was first to the scene. It was a change of M.O. – the woman was found in a seldom-used warehouse instead of her own bed.

But he left Panzer in an alley, Rigsby reasoned. And when he saw that chilling symbol – the smiley face, drawn in blood on the office door with three gloved fingers, there was no doubt in his mind that this was a Red John case.

Cho arrived and the two of them went through the marked door together. The office must have belonged to a floor manager; it was white-washed and smelled like old papers. But neither of them were prepared for what they saw.

The room had been stripped bare, and the white walls had become a violent canvas. Red bloody handprints had been pressed and smeared in a frenzy all over the walls, the table, even the low ceiling. The body was slumped against the wall opposite the door, and should have been the first thing you saw, but the macabre cave-painting overwhelmed everything else.

"Jesus." Rigsby breathed.  
Cho went carefully over the body and crouched down, grimacing as he tried to avoid contaminating the evidence – an enormous pool of blood around the body. "Throat's slashed. A few minor cuts to the upper arms." he looked at her hand. "Defensive wounds." he said, noting the broken nail on her right ring finger.

"Forensics will have a field day with this one." Rigsby shook his head, marvelling at the scene before him. He was horrified that the same man who had done this had injured Grace, but also relieved that he had not chosen to do this to her.

Just then Lisbon strode through the office door, and stopped abruptly, sweeping a look at the scene. She took a very small step back and tilted her head up, the blood on the ceiling setting her mouth in a firm and grieved line.

"It's savage." Cho said, straightening up. "Looks like Red John's mad about something."  
Lisbon snapped back into work mode. "Do we have an I.D. on the victim?"  
"Nope. Jane Doe." Cho said. "Caucasian woman, mid-thirties."  
"Where's Jane?"  
"Morning, Lisbon." Jane stepped through the door, careful not to touch the mark. His eyes widened when he looked at the pool around the body, and the marks on the walls. "That's a lot of blood."

"You think there's more than one victim's blood here?" Cho asked.

Jane shrugged, and began inspecting the handprints, with his own hands folded behind his back. "Maybe." Cho knew he never liked to second-guess Red John cases.

Lisbon gave him a speculative look. "What can you tell us about the victim?"

Jane looked at the victim from where he was, rather than getting close to the body. This bothered Lisbon for some reason. Why choose today to be mindful of contaminating evidence?

"Single child of an overbearing mother." Jane said, with a little less of his usual flourish. "No family of her own, a professional – bank teller, maybe...something financial."

"Anything else?" Lisbon asked.

"Her mother was perpetually sick and required constant tending, but her own health was ailing too. Sunken eyes, thinned face." Jane added by way of explanation.

"Any chance we'll get a palm print from the hands?" Rigsby asked, already anticipating the answer.

"He wore gloves." Lisbon responded. She shook her head and looked at Jane. "What is the message here? What is Red John trying to say?"

Cho and Rigsby turned to look expectantly at Jane.

"He doesn't want us to think he's gone soft." Jane paused. "He's proving that he's capable of savagery." He said this last part very softly.

"That poem. The Grey Monk." Cho mused. "Red John mentioned the hand of vengeance."

Lisbon's eyes bulged. She swallowed, and walked quickly out of the room. Frowning, her team followed her.

"Forensics will be here any minute – nothing more we can do here until they've done their thing." Lisbon looked at the floor briefly, then back up at her team. "Rigsby – put out Jane Doe's description statewide and see if you can find her mother. Cho, contact the owner of the site and see if they have any Red John connections or connections to the victim." The boys nodded, and Rigsby added a "Sure, boss." They left. Then she turned to Jane.

He was steeling himself for the look on her face: the disappointment, the exasperation, the barely controlled rage. But it was worse than that. She was soft and calm.

"Where can we go to talk?" she asked

Jayne left his car at the crime-scene and climbed into the passenger's seat of Lisbon's SUV without protest. "Turn left out of here." he said, "then back onto the highway." He directed her to a diner he'd been to once before, and she passively took his directions without question.

No. This was not good at all.

They pulled up in the car park at Frankie's Diner, and Lisbon turned off the ignition, and stared straight ahead for a moment.

"Lisbon..." he began.  
"Not here." she interjected listlessly. "Inside."

Frankie's was an all night establishment and only had one camera directed at the till. Jane chose a booth at the far end, near the greasy glass window looking out onto the pre-dawn darkness. They both slid in, and faced each other.

"It was you." Lisbon said bluntly. "Back there."  
Jane said nothing, which was as good as a confession.  
"_That,_" Lisbon stuttered "was your_ plan_? The plan that_ I_ helped you..."  
She stopped, and blinked into space.

"What'd you like?" a tired twenty-something girl wore a pale pink uniform and leaned into her hip, pen poised over the pad.

"A cup of coffee and a slice of the apple pie for the lady, and two poached eggs and an English breakfast tea for me." Jane said genially. The girl nodded and scribbled, then sidled away, in no hurry to make amiable small talk this early.

"Eggs. You're really going to eat eggs at a time like this?" Lisbon asked, disgusted.  
Jane sighed. "What I eat is not going to change what you saw this morning. We both need a pick-me-up."

Lisbon belatedly realised what he'd ordered for her: comfort food. But she did not feel comforted. Questions burbled in her mind.

"Where did you even _get_ the body Jane? You didn't..." she didn't know how to finish that sentence.  
"Of course I didn't." Jane scoffed, as the waitress plonked the pie down on the table.  
Lisbon looked like she needed convincing.  
Jane's eggs arrived and he began to cut them. "I took her from a body farm."  
"Jane, that's a criminal offense!" Lisbon hissed. "Not to mention that Red John's not an idiot. When the body farm story appears on the news he'll put two and two together."  
"I don't think the story will leap out at him." Jane took a mouthful and swallowed before continuing. "A fire at Texas State University after a frat prank gone wrong is hardly interstate news."

She couldn't believe he was calmly sitting there, chewing eggs and feeling clever. Like he had no feeling for what he'd done.

Lisbon tasted bile in her throat."It's not just the laws you've broken, Jane. There's a moral line you've crossed. You used that poor woman's body like a paint palette – "

"Partridge is a forensics expert." Jane cut in. "The body was two days old. I had to heat her in a warm bath and use blood thinners and a pump just to get her blood to flowing again. Once I'd done that, there were irregularities in the blood. I needed to provide a plausible reason for it – hence the finger-painting. It's also misdirection. Forensics will be so busy with the handprints they won't pay as much attention to the body."

"It's more than that." Lisbon cut in icily. "You were right, earlier, about the killer trying to prove his savagery."

Jane said nothing, but he put his knife and fork down.

Lisbon looked at him piercingly.

"Basic profiling would say those marks were made by a violent sociopath, someone who feels emasculated and kills to feel powerful..."

"Don't." Jane cut in. "Don't pretend to be shocked Lisbon. You_ knew_ I was going to stage a Red John crime-scene. How did you think I was going to manage that without using a body?" he sneered "You didn't ask because you didn't _want_ to know."

"This isn't a game anymore!" Lisbon cried. "What you've done is at minimum seven years of jail-time, and that's the least worrying part about it. Look what it's _doing_ to you." she reached out and gripped his hand, looking deep into his eyes. "You cut up a woman and spent hours painting a room with her blood. Is that what your family would want from you, or is it what Red John would want?"

Jane was shaking. "I know it's not what _you_ want. You have a hard enough time justifying having me in your life on my best days. But I'm sorry Lisbon, I had to do this. If it means I have lost you..." he swallowed.

"You're losing yourself." Lisbon intoned, letting go of his hand and leaning back. She wasn't prepared yet to say whether or not she was still in this. "And what is it all for? How is this going to help us catch Red John? He'll be mad for sure, but..."

"He'll be upstaged." Jane cut across her. "We'll get the media talking about Red John's savage new kill, and the handprints. When it's all abuzz, we speculate that this might be a copycat, a successor who is even worse than Red John."

"Oh God." Lisbon breathed, seeing where this was going. "You're the bait."  
Jane nodded. "I broke the rules of our little game and have proclaimed to the world that I am the alpha male, as it were. This ensures that he will feel the need to kill me for my insolence, rather than striking someone else close to home. "

Lisbon was snorting with the kind of laughter that bubbles up from hysteria. "You're the alpha male?" she laughed. "A statement like that will make him want to kill you or sure."

"You needn't find it quite so funny, Lisbon." Jane chided. There was an edge to his voice.

Lisbon sobered, remembering that blood-filled room. Jane wasn't just the civilized man in the three-piece suit before her drinking tea. He was also capable of violence, savagery and cruelty. She had never wanted to believe in his violent streak, even when he shot Timothy Carter. But it was undeniable now: the monster in the man. Dark and determined.

"He'll make his move in the next few days– he will want my death to push the copycat story out of the news. So, if you're willing, all you have to do is wait. He'll catch me and you'll catch him."

Lisbon took a bite of pie and raised an eyebrow. "So in this scenario, we catch Red John and put him in jail? Even she wasn't naive enough to think prison could hold Red John.

"Of course not." Jane finished his eggs with a flourish. "You'll incapacitate him. I'll kill him."


	19. Bloodier Consequences

Jane sat on the edge of his bed and flicked on the television in his motel room. After clicking through a few channels, the news flashed Bertram's face.  
"This crime has been labelled Red John's bloodiest yet." an Asiatic male news reporter interjected. "What do police make of the handprints at the crime scene?"

Bertram expected that one, and answered smoothly: "The CBI has it's top criminal psychologists on the Red John case, and working in concert with our profiling friends at the FBI, we hope to make sense of this senseless act." He took another question. This time, it was Karen Cross. "Is there any truth to the rumour" she drawled "that this attack may be the result of one of Red John's protégés – that we could be looking at an even more brutal copycat killer?" Bertram paused for a beat, then said "Although we always keep an open mind, we work the case, and so far all signs point towards Red John." A buzz of questions went up. Two different reporters said the word "copycat" at the same time, and Jane turned off the TV. His work was done.

Now, all he had to do was wait for Red John to show up and kill him.

Around noon, Van Pelt sidled up to Cho who was at his desk, running backgrounds on the warehouse employees. Rigsby felt her come closer, but pretended not to see, keeping his eyes fixed on his paperwork.

"Jane and the boss not coming in today?" she asked him.  
Cho looked up. He could tell she felt awkward prying for information, instead of knowing what was going on like the rest of the team. But lately, Van Pelt had been trouble. "They're working the handprint case." was all he said.

"Yeah I saw the notes on that. Supposed to be a Red John case." she ventured.  
Cho put down his papers and looked directly at her. "You don't think it's him?"

She smiled, and said lightly "Don't tell Jane, but just because Red John attacked me, that doesn't mean I know what's going on his head."  
Cho's face remained impassive but his eyes grew warmer. "I thought you and Jane were close these days."  
Van Pelt gave him a cynical smile. "Don't get me wrong, talking to Jane helps – and I do need someone to talk to. But we all know the only reason he and I have become _inseparable_ is because he thinks that through talking to me, he'll glean some secret advantage against Red John."

Cho smirked in spite of himself. It was nice to have someone see through Jane for once.

"You know" Van Pelt continued "when I heard the media raise the copycat theory with Bertram this morning I thought: don't tell me Red John has someone _more_ obsessed with him than Jane." she laughed. "For a split-second I even thought Jane might _be_ the copycat. Good thing he's so squeamish or he'd be a suspect."

Cho humoured Van Pelt. "The cuts were clean. If it wasn't Red John it was someone who'd studied his style."

"Jane _has_ studied it." Rigsby hesitantly joined in the conversation, remaining seated at his desk. He wasn't sure if he would scare Grace off. She looked uncomfortable but she acknowledged him. "He already has all the Red John files _and_ he took all Partridge's forensic notes." he looked at Cho, half-joking, half-serious. "He even fits the profile."

"The case notes described the perpetrator as "savage and emasculated" – neither of those terms fit Jane." Van Pelt cut in, rebuffing Rigsby's statement by directing her comments at Cho. He reflected that they were starting to use him as a human Ouija board to transmit messages.

Rigsby swallowed. "Jane failed at the one thing a man is supposed to be able to do no matter what: keep his wife and his child safe. What could be more emasculating than that?"

That bald re-statement of Jane's history fell on a silent bullpen. Cho wasn't touching it with a ten-foot pole, and all their talk was really making him wonder whether Jane was a viable suspect. Could he ever go that far over the edge? It was a 50-50. Rigsby could feel Van Pelt's gaze on his face. It had a curious intensity. He was blushing, doing everything in his power not to look up. His speech had gotten a little impassioned, and he wondered if Grace knew how bad he felt that he wasn't able to do that one thing he was supposed to: protect _her_.

Probably not. She still thought _he_ was the one she needed to be protected from. His stomach fluttered with anxiety. He kept his head down until she walked away.

Jane heard the shower in his en-suite going. Lisbon refused to leave him alone since the incident – he was under twenty-four hour protective detail, according to her. However it seemed Lisbon was the only one assigned to it. He didn't know what he was going to do about sleeping arrangements – there was only one bed in his room, and Red John might get suspicious if he played the gentleman and took the floor.

Much better to sleep in shifts. He closed his eyes.

_A pale hand grabbed him around the neck. He tried to scream, but the sound was suffocated in his throat. Thrashing underneath his attacker, he looked up._

It was the woman from the body farm, her carrotty locks blotted with blood, and a red handprint on her cheek.

"What did you do?" she said thickly, blood gulping from the wound across her neck. "How many pounds of flesh does it take, Patrick?" with each heavy "P" sound, she spat a mist of blood on Jane's face.

She raised his own knife against him.  
  
_"I'm sorry!" he screamed, his hands held up to protect his face. "I didn't want to. I never want to." But she was not listening._

She brought the knife down.

He woke up in a cold sweat, sobbing incoherently. He wrenched his hands away from his attacker, only to realise it was Lisbon, sitting on the foot of his bed, eyes limpid with concern. "You were talking in your sleep." she said quietly, as though that mild phrase could explain the violent thrashing she had just witnessed. "Were you dreaming of the crime scene?"

Panting, Jane nodded. It was too late to lie. Plus, there was a reasonable chance Red John would kill him tonight, so lying seemed extraneous. "I get night terrors." was all he said.

She had been rubbing his bent-up leg in a comforting gesture, and now, he reached his hand down and curled it in hers. Safe. His hand felt safe in hers. He squeezed it.

Jane was too numbed and shaken to notice the waves of relief rolling off Lisbon.

This dream was the sign that she needed. Jane was still human, still capable of feeling. He might be able to clinically control his actions and his conscious mind, but his subconscious was as horrified by what he'd done as she was.

Since the diner, she had been wondering deep down whether Jane counted as one of the good guys anymore. Whether she ought to be getting roped into this final scheme. But this glimpse of his conscience restored her faith. He was afraid of what he'd done, and though he'd never admit it, he must be a little afraid that Red John would find a way to get to him.

But she would protect him.

"So what do you think his game plan will be?" she thought that talking shop might give Jane a chance to calm down.

"He'll want to set up a very graphic tableau for the press. Maybe dismemberment, or skinning if he has the skill." Jane talked as though the fact that it was his own skin he was talking about was the farthest thing from his mind.

"Also he'll want a semi-public place – not inaccessible – he'll be doing a rush job – but somewhere with good visuals and public access. A church or a public park." Jane looked up, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "He might even try to weasel his way onto the crime scene or to check out the body himself at the morgue."

Lisbon nodded. "I'll call Cho and get him to take Rigsby and stake out the crime scene. You and I can take the morgue."

Jane straightened himself up whilst Lisbon grabbed her jacket and her keys. Just as she was about to walk out the door, she turned to him, hesitating.

"Jane, even if Red John believes you killed that woman, he must know you're setting him up. How do you know he really will come after you? Why not kill someone else you care about in retribution?

Jane faltered for a microsecond, then gave her a reassuring smile. "He won't so that for two reasons. First, he'll know it's a trap, but his wounded pride and arrogance will force him to spring it anyway to prove he's better than us. He won't be able to help himself – that's how a good con works."

Lisbon knew the last thing Jane needed was someone to remind him that predicting Red John's moves got his wife and daughter killed. So she swallowed her doubts and instead asked "What's the second reason?"

"The only people left on this Earth that I care about carry guns." This was calculated to make Lisbon smile and remember the time he had called her "the NRA poster child".

It worked. She shook her head and took them out to her SUV.

When they got to the morgue, Lisbon asked a bored-looking African American youth whether anyone had been to see their Jane Doe. The ME's assistant nodded. "Just your CBI lab guy."

Jane and Lisbon looked at each other. "He still in there?"  
"Naw." the assistant said, taking a gross bite of a ham-and-salad sandwich and talking as he chewed. "Took his work gear and left about half an hour ago."  
"Lisbon." Jane said with that high urgent pitch in his voice, holding up the sign-in sheet.

In that neat, feminine hand:

_Dr Uzrien._

Lisbon jumped on the phone to Cho and started barking orders about the morgue surveillance footage, but Jane was barely listening. Apprehension and dread moved his leaden feet to the draw the checklist had assigned to his Jane Doe.

21B. He opened it.

The body. Red John had chopped the body up into pieces...why? Jane faltered as something rolled towards him with a sickening thud in the metal drawer. Something which told him this wasn't Jane Doe at all.

It was the staring head of Karen Cross.


	20. Red Wolves in White Fleece

**Red Wolves in White Fleece**

Jane was desperately trying to make the latest death mean something by getting a useful lead out of it to track Red John. "A hatchet. Or bone-saw." he said distractedly in the bullpen. "He would have needed to purchase one – hacking people up isn't part of his normal repertoire."  
Rigsby nodded. "A saw is more likely. I'll circulate Partridge's picture to local hardware stores and medical supplies." he grabbed a case file and strode over to talk to Brenda about organising the PR.

Jane tried to think of other useful angles. "If I could look over her apartment..."

"We've been through this." Lisbon said tightly. "Cross wasn't abducted from home. She was lured away from her workplace." Lisbon was done with his game. She'd tried it his way and it had backfired. Horribly. Now they would do it her way, safe and sensible. Jane was not leaving the walls of the CBI.

Jane looked up from his distracted state and hooked onto Lisbon's phrase. "Lured how?"

She swallowed uncomfortably but told him in a neutral tone: "Someone rang the station and left a message for Cross that they had the inside scoop on the handprint case. She went to the morgue to meet them."

"Ah." Jane nodded, seeing the extra little detail Lisbon hadn't reported in her eyes. "The caller who left the message for Karen said they were _me_, didn't they? That's why she jumped right on it."

"Yeah." Lisbon said bleakly.

Jane just nodded to himself, as though he were recovering from a physical blow. He'd never liked Karen Cross but he did regret being responsible for her death. And he was responsible, in more ways than one. He was the one who had fed her the "rumour" about the copycat killer before the press conference.

And he had an uncomfortable feeling that Lisbon knew it.

Red John had known.

"We keep working the crime scene." Lisbon said. "One thing we do know is that Red John was in a hurry this time. He might have gotten sloppy." Cho nodded and grabbed his keys to head back out to the morgue.

"Where would he have taken the body?" Lisbon asked Jane.  
"He'd have kept it to examine." Jane muttered. "If he hid Karen's body in one of those wheeled forensics trolley-cases to get it into the crime scene, it stands to reason he took Jane Doe out the same way."

"So he would have had to cut her up too?" Lisbon asked  
"It's likely." Jane said. She saw the discomfort come into his eyes.

She moved on. "So we're looking for somewhere with lab equipment or at the very least a large freezer."

Just then, a messenger arrived. It was a young man with "Speedfreak 24 hour Courier Services" printed on his cap.

"Mr Jane?"  
Jane nodded.  
"Will you sign for this?"  
"Sure." He reached for the box but Lisbon slapped his hand away.  
"Jane, you know who this is from. There could be anything inside. Anthrax. A bomb. Anything."

The delivery boy blinked and put the box on a table, backing away slowly, looking like he was going to leg it and the tip be damned. "Hey" Lisbon said, grabbing the boy by the shoulder. "We need to ask you some questions."  
"No need." Jane cut in. "You work for an Internet start-up company. The order was placed online, requesting express-same-day-delivery. You picked up the parcel from a man with a lilting voice who paid in cash and met you in the driveway of a house in a nice suburban neighbourhood with a For Sale sign out the front.

"Pretty much." the boy choked,  
flabbergasted.

"See?" Jane said. "He picked an empty house at random and just stood out the front of it. Nothing useful there." His eyes turned to the far more tangible clue of the box.

"Nevertheless, we're going to need the address of the house you picked this up from." she told the boy. "And we need you to look through some photos to I.D. the man who handed you the package. "

Lisbon sent the boy off with Rigsby to be questioned. Then she turned to their present problem: the box. They both knew doing things by the book – calling in the bomb squad and what have you – would take precious hours. Jane pressed his ear to the box, sniffed it, and looked at it from every angle. Lisbon only had time to say "Jane, don't!" before he'd lifted the lid.

Inside was a piece of paper wrapped around a human hand. Lisbon saw Jane become pale. He deftly unwrapped the piece of paper from the hand and unrumpled it, letting the hand thunk grossly back into the bottom of the box. He read aloud:

"_When God commanded this hand to write  
In the studious hours of deep midnight.  
He told me the writing I wrote should prove  
The Bane of all that on Earth I lov'd."  
_  
"More Blake?" Lisbon asked.  
"It's another passage from The Grey Monk." Jane stated blandly. He handed the note to Lisbon so she could read the final personalized part of the message:

_You know what happened to the boy who cried wolf, don't you Jane?_

Lisbon sighed. "He knows about Jane Doe." She felt a little numb. After ten years of antagonising him, Jane had finally succeeded in getting a death threat from Red John. She wondered whether this is what he'd wanted, subconsciously, all along: not to catch Red John, but to be killed by him. To join his wife and daughter.

"Lisbon," Jane cut across her reverie. "What kind of tracking devices do the CBI have?"  
"We use basic GPS trackers mostly." Lisbon said hesitantly. Why?"  
"We need to sew one in the lining of my coat. That way when Red John grabs me – "  
"Red John isn't _going_ to grab you." Lisbon cut in. "You're going into protective custody until he is caught."  
"Of course I'm not, Lisbon. Think about it. He's not going to rest until he's killed me and you can't keep me locked in a safe-house forever: better just to let him make his move."

"There's a reason we don't let potential victims opt out of protective custody." Lisbon rebuked. "They make irrational decisions and put themselves in danger. This is not a discussion! Pack a bag." she ordered.

Jane took a deep breath and got rid of all the angst and feverish excitement in his face. Then, with a patient expression, he clasped Lisbon's hands. "This is the final leg of the journey." he said. "I can feel it. This is when we catch Red John. But we need some bait. I need you to take a chance and let him take me. Will you help me finish this, Lisbon?"

All Lisbon could picture was opening that cold steel draw, and a head rolling towards her. Only this time, it had blonde curls and piercing blue eyes. But he knew exactly what he was risking. She swallowed.

"Fine. But we draw up a _plan_ and get the Special Response team in on this. We'll let you get "nabbed" from a safe-house and track you, flanking the car _before_ you reach your destination. So no quick moves. Methodical planning."

Jane nodded, giving her a smile warmer than sun breaking through storm clouds. _She did have faith in him to do this after all.  
_  
Suddenly, Rigsby burst back through the door, mobile phone in his hand. "Boss," he cried out, voice shaking with nerves "Ben's missing! He's been taken."

Lisbon looked up in alarm.

"His nanny was knocked out cold. When she came to, Ben was gone. It's got to be Red John doesn't it?!" Rigsby was beside himself. Lisbon strode over to him and put a calming hand on his shoulder. She dialled her phone one-handed and began barking orders to Missing Persons then to Brenda, asking for Ben's picture to make the nightly news bulletin. Then, while she called in another team and forensics to sweep Rigsby's house, she forced him to sit down in his chair and take a few deep breaths. He was almost doubled over in shock.

Jane knew only too well what sort of fear and dread Rigsby was going through. Rather than comforting him, Jane removed himself from Rigsby's eyeline because he knew his presence served as a reminder of the worst possible outcome of cases like this. He ducked out into the corridor and called Cho.

"Jane." he answered.  
"When was the last time you saw Agent Van Pelt?" Jane asked him, voice laced with curiosity.  
"Lunchtime. Why?"  
"Did she talk to Rigsby?" Jane asked.  
"Sort of. We discussed the handprint case. What's this about?"  
"What exactly did you talk about?" Jane queried.  
"Your relationship with Grace, whether or not you might be the handprint copycat, and whether losing your wife and child was emasculating." Cho's deadpan voice didn't skirt around the awkward topics. "Why do you want to know?"

Jane was a little surprised that they'd been discussing him like that. Even if some of it was true. But he ignored it and pushed on to the business at hand. "Ben's missing."

Cho paused. "I'll be right there."  
He hung up.

Jane had a theory that they wouldn't be seeing Van Pelt at the CBI tomorrow. Or perhaps ever again. He had wondered why Red John had sent Van Pelt, and now he knew. She was supposed to be the apple of discord, to stir up trouble with the team,_ that_ he'd already known. But it was more than that. The rape allegations, the kidnapping...for some reason Red John had tasked Grace with breaking Rigsby. And to achieve this, she'd taken Ben for Red John.

From what he had seen a few moments ago in the bullpen, her plan was working.

Jane continued into the men's bathroom and leaned against the sink, breathing heavily. He dearly hoped he wasn't responsible for putting another man through his own private agony.

That's when he felt something hard crack over the back of his head. He staggered and fell to the floor. Looking up, his vision doubled. The figure above him was wearing a janitor's uniform. His face was swollen and bruised, but he recognized the high purring voice.

"Hello Patrick."

Jane groaned and tried to roll away but the figure put one foot on his chest and pinned him before injecting something into his neck.

Jane went limp, raging within his helpless body as he listened to that familiar chuckle.

The world fluttered and faded to black.


End file.
